


A Strange Situation

by darkpartofmydestiny



Category: North and South (UK TV), North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 181,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkpartofmydestiny/pseuds/darkpartofmydestiny
Summary: After meeting by chance at the train station, Margaret returns to Milton with John. There she must learn to understand the new life she is about to embark upon. She searches for her own purpose and must deal with the disapproval of those closest to her. (Also posted on ff.net)Smut in chapters 18, 20, 22, 26, 28, 33, 36 and 41 if you're looking for the scenes not included on FF.net (wow that's a lot of smut..)





	1. Chapter One

Margaret gazed out of the window, watching as the fields and towns flashed before her eyes. The train thundered its way towards Milton, whistling its way rapidly towards a fate she could scarcely believe.

She found herself alone with Mr Thornton, quite without a chaperone and quite without a care. She sat pressed against him, his arms wrapped around her waist. Surely, she thought to herself, if Aunt Shaw could see her now there would be quite the scandal.

She sat up a little straighter then; what would her aunt have to say about all of this? When Henry returned without her, when he explained where she had gone..

"Do you think I have been too brash?" Margaret asked. She turned away from the window to face Mr Thornton, her face contorted with concern. He cocked an eyebrow at her, unsure to what she meant. "Turning back and coming to Milton with you."

"You have regrets?" He asked cautiously, sitting up straighter and releasing her from his grip.

"Not as such. This isn't the proper way to do things. My aunt will think me a fallen woman, Henry-" Margaret began, a feeling of dread spreading over her chest.

"I do not care what your aunt or Henry have to say, Margaret. If you have doubts about this, I will escort you back to London myself. I will not trap you, and I will certainly not taint your name with scandal. I thought you knew full well what I would ask you, when the time was right. I have asked you once before, of course. I would ask you again, but now I am not so certain you would say yes."

"I do not want to return to London, John." Margaret insisted, a little hurt that he thought she would change her mind so quickly.

"You called me John."

"It is your name, is it not?"

"Yes, of course."

"I think it is acceptable for us to be on first name terms now. In private, at least." She smiled. She hesitantly raised a hand to stroke his cheek. His eyes closed, a blissful smile spreading over his face. "I am just not sure what everyone will make of this. Your mother, for example. I'm sure she will think me most impertinent. She does not think highly of my moral character, she has made that quite plain."

"Higgins spoke to me." John said quietly, knowing precisely what incident had lowered his mother's opinion of Margaret. "He thought you'd be in Spain, with-"

"He told you about Fred." Margaret interrupted.

"Fred, that's your brother's name?" John asked.

It was strange to him that there was another man in Margaret's family. A whole side of Margaret's life that he knew nothing about. Mr Hale must have longed to talk about him, John thought. Perhaps that is why they got on so well; Mr Hale a father missing his son, John a man without a father.

"Frederick, yes. Did he tell you of his circumstances?"

"He mentioned some sort of trouble with the navy, but not too much. You know Higgins, he's a man who uses few words and chooses them carefully."

"I knew Mary would tell him, but I trust Nicholas implicitly. He is a good man, I hope you see that now."

"I do. Enough about Higgins. Please, tell me about Fred."

"Fred was involved in a mutiny, oh, many years ago now. It was the right thing to do, the Captain was insane. The law did not agree; many of his fellow men involved in the coup were hanged. Fred came back from Spain where he was living in safety to see Mama as she was dying. I wanted to tell you - in truth I ached to tell you. I could not risk his secret being uncovered. It would have destroyed Father."

"I understand, we do not have to discuss it further. I do have one question that I hope you will explain to me truthfully - what did the man at the station have to do with it all?"

"Oh, that nasty business. Leonards knew us, in Helstone. He called out to Fred and risked uncovering his true identity. Fred did not mean to injure him, truthfully he would not hurt a fly. I am sorry for lying. I would never have thought I could lie to a policeman but the risks were just too great."

"I understand. I wanted to protect you from any trouble but truthfully I did think there was some more sinister, sinful explanation. I thought the worst of you and I am truly sorry for that. I am sorry too for speaking so harshly to you - and I'm sorry for what my mother might have said to you. I know she came to speak with you."

"What on Earth will your mother make of all this?" Margaret said, her sadness turning to amusement at the ludicrous situation the pair had found themselves in. "I have nowhere to stay-"

"Of course you have somewhere to stay. You're coming home with me, you will live with me." John said as though it were the most simple thing in the world.

"It is not proper-"

"You will have your own room, of course. For a short time at least."

"Oh?" Margaret asked with a teasing smile.

"I was rather hoping before too long you would be sharing mine."

"Mr Thornton!"

"Have I shocked you?" He said in a low voice near her ear. "I do apologise."

"When we arrive at Milton, we will be as we were before." Margaret said firmly, moving away from him and taking a seat on the opposite bench. He observed her carefully, his closed expression unreadable.

"Of course." He nodded.

"You have a business to run, Mr Thornton." Margaret reminded him. He groaned at her formal address of him.

"John, please." He begged, leaning forward and placing his hands on her knees.

She blushed at his presumptuous touch, shifting away from him and shuffling down the bench. She clasped her hands together, placing them in her lap. He watched her display of chastity with a smile; Margaret had never seen him smile so freely or so often.

"Mr Thornton. Until we are-" Margaret stopped herself and turned to look at the window, her cheeks burning.

"Until we are what?"

"Well, you haven't asked me again! I shan't assume!" Margaret said with a nervous laugh.

John watched her carefully and she found herself squirming under his determined gaze. She turned once more to face the window. She felt the bench sink a little with his weight as he sat beside her. He took her hand in his, and she turned to face him. His face was close to hers, and as she turned, he pressed his forehead against hers, his hand resting on her cheek. Their noses touched, and she closed her eyes.

"Margaret Hale, will you be my wife?" John whispered. His voice was faint, even for a whisper. He took a shaking breath, and Margaret realised that the hand on her face was trembling.

"Yes." Margaret felt tears prick her eyes as she answered his question. "Yes, I will be your wife."

"Since it is all proper, may I be permitted to kiss you again?" John asked. His own voice sounded strangled, as though he too was on the brink of tears.

"Yes." Margaret laughed, a tear slipping down her cheek.

He pressed his lips to hers, gentle and timid. Margaret had never considered Mr Thornton to be timid in any way at all; yet when it came to intimacy he seemed most cautious. It was the most sinful pleasure Margaret had ever known, to be kissed so gently by a man so ungentle in all other pursuits.

"I will be a good husband to you, Margaret." He murmured against her lips.

"And I will do my best to be a good wife. Though I fear I do not know how."

He pulled away from her and looked her in the eyes.

"Don't change. I'm sure many will tell you you must change who you are, must give away your own mind. I implore you to stay exactly as you are right at this moment; this is the woman I want to marry."

"I will try - I think your mother will not like it."

"A fig for what my mother thinks. She will come around."

John and Margaret walked in the dim dusk light towards the mill. John carried her little carpet bag, watching as Margaret turned her head at every sight and sound. It was like walking with a child, the joy on her face clear to see.

"You are happy to be back in Milton, I see."

"I am happy to be here with you." She said boldly, her eyes still darting from one building to another. "Milton did not look nearly so well when I was here earlier today. Now, I think it is the most wonderful place I have ever been."

"I'm sure Mary Higgins will be pleased to know you've come back. And I must tell her father the mill will be reopening - oh, I better put in an order-" John began, but Margaret held up a hand to stop him.

"John, think of business tomorrow. It is getting late and there is nothing to be done tonight."

"Yes, Master."

John smiled, looking down at his fiancée with a wide grin. He could not keep from smiling. Margaret thought his whole face changed when he smiled. A different, though just as handsome, man entirely.

"Hush, I am not your master. I am merely your fiancée and I wish to have your undivided attention for one night at least."

"Of course. There will be much to do over the next few weeks to resume the working of the mill. I apologise in advance, I doubt we will have much time together."

"I think I too will be busy planning something, Mr Thornton. Wedding plans are time consuming. Edith's wedding took months of meticulous planning, it really was most tedious."

"Something simple, I think, for us. Fanny's wedding was nice enough, would that do you?"

"I would marry you in front of nobody but a vicar, wearing only rags. It does not matter to me."

"I could make you some cotton for a new dress," he teased, "But I know it is not the fashion."

"What a nice idea." Margaret said thoughtfully.

Cotton may not have been the most fashionable material, as she herself said to his face long ago. However, the idea of wearing a dress crafted using the material that her future husband had dedicated his life to producing was somewhat romantic.

"I was only joking.."

"No, I like it. I'm sure it would look very handsome."

"Fanny will be aghast. She does not seem to care for anything that isn't made of the finest silk they sell in Milton." John said with a smirk. "What will she make of her new sister in law, I wonder."

"I'm sure I will never be fashionable or entertaining enough for her, but I hope that we will come to be something close to friends."

They stopped walking; they were now standing at the imposing gates of Marlborough Mills. John took a deep, slightly shaky breath. He reached for Margaret's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"You're nervous." Margaret said, looking up at him.

John did not hear her, instead he stared blankly straight ahead. His brow was furrowed, and Margaret looked down to see his foot was tapping against the dirt rapidly.

They both stared straight ahead at the Mill. It was deathly silent. Although Margaret had been here earlier the same day, it still shocked her to see this once bustling place so without life.

"Have you met my mother?" John said after a while, in a strangely small voice. "I am scared she'll not approve of this. It is so sudden, she'll be caught off guard. I'm afraid my feelings have run away with me. I haven't felt this fearful since I was a lad."

"She loves you dearly; as long as you are happy, she will be."

"I know." Though he did not sound as certain as he did about most things in life. He took a deep breath, his brow furrowed. He looked as he always did; determined. "Come, it will not do to dawdle here all day, Miss Hale."

"Lead the way, Mr Thornton." She linked her arm through his, placing her spare hand over his in the crook of her elbow.

She looked up towards the house. In the window she could see a figure move away quickly at her gaze. There was no doubt that Mrs Thornton was observing this sight and had already come to the conclusion that Margaret had returned for good.

Mrs Thornton was the smartest woman Margaret had ever encountered. Every decision, every word she spoke was carefully calculated with the sharp mind of a man. What a shame it was, Margaret thought, that she was not a man. A man with her mind would be lauded; a woman with her mind of her own was simply ignored and dismissed out of hand. Margaret had sometimes wondered what it was to be a man; a rich man, at least. To have a voice that was valued, no matter what it said.

John pushed open the heavy door to the house. It was dark and cold - the air outside was warm and a rush of cold air hit them both.

"Mother." He called out as they stepped over the threshold, his deep voice booming through the almost empty hallway.

"Should we not go to the drawing room?" Margaret hissed. "I hardly think it's proper to discuss this in the hallway."

"I don't know the proper way to do this, I've hardly done it before." John hissed back. "Leave your bag here, I'll take it to your room later. The servants have gone, we hadn't the money to keep them."

"Tomorrow I will go and re engage them. I was thinking perhaps I could send for Dixon, if that would agree with you."

"Of course. I suppose we should go and find my mother since she is steadfastly ignoring me."

"I'll follow you."

John climbed the stairs, with the heavy gait of a man walking to his execution. Margaret felt her heart hammer wildly in her chest, her breath almost escaping her. She was sure she had never felt so nervous in all of her life.

These dark, unwelcoming rooms that were so familiar to her suddenly seemed to change. This would be her home, her married home. This entire day had seemed like a dream.

"Mother." She heard John say. Margaret decided to wait in the hallway just outside the drawing room. Mrs Thornton would want to hear the news from her son; she would allow them to share this moment privately.

John turned to look for her. He spotted her standing shadowed in the doorway and Margaret held her hands up, hoping he understood that she wanted him to tell his mother the news alone. He frowned, and turned back to his mother.

"Mother, there's something I need to tell you."

"Oh yes?"

"Miss Hale and I - are to be married."

"I see."

"I hope that you understand."

"I understand, John. It is just a surprise - Miss Hale left Milton earlier today, and I had no idea where you had gone. The fact that you're marrying her isn't a total shock - it has been over a year since she rejected you and you have still not even looked at another girl. That you should stumble upon her is a true surprise to me, that's all."

"We met at a station halfway between here and London, quite by chance." John explained, the story sounding most unlikely now it was said out loud.

"And she just hopped on a train and came back with you? With no chaperone or word to her family? John, I'm surprised at your carelessness. It is bad enough she travelled here alone with an unmarried man, but to switch between gentlemen with no care for her reputation-"

"Mother. There was nothing untoward about it and I think Miss Hale's reputation is no longer your concern. Margaret is a kind, thoughtful woman and I am in love with her."

"Aye, I know your feelings for her full well. I've watched you brood over her long enough to know this a good thing for you. I do not mean to be unkind, John. It is just a shock. This morning I did not know where you were and when I would see you again. Now you bring back a wife. Come in, Margaret. Do not loiter in the hallway like a ghost."

"Mrs Thornton." Margaret bobbed her head, her eyes fixed to the floor.

"So, it is official. He's good enough for you now I see."

"Mother! Do not speak to Margaret like that."

"A joke, John. You will grow used to my sense of humour in time, Miss Hale. I mean you no harm. A funny time to take a wife, John. I don't know how much of a household will be left for her to run."

"Mother, Margaret first spoke to me of a business proposition. I do not wish to go into the details now, but the Mill will be reopening." John said in a low voice.

"She's lending you the money?" Mrs Thornton asked. "Is this a marriage of business?"

"No, it is a marriage of love." Margaret said firmly. She noticed John's head snap around to look at her. This was the first time she had mentioned love. "I have inherited a sum of money from my Godfather Mr Bell. I know that Mr Bell would be very pleased to see the money put to good use in running the Mill again. He always admired Mr Thornton's mind for business, I know."

"I'm not sure you and I remember Mr Bell the same way, Miss Hale, but I'll allow you your memories. It is a very generous offer on your part." Mrs Thornton said.

Mrs Thornton stood and walked to the window. The dim light shrouded her figure, leaving her a dark silhouette.

"Not at all. I trust Mr Thornton to use it efficiently and the rate of interest I will receive from him is better than any bank could offer me. And I will be pleased to see many of the local people be engaged in his employment again. Mr Thornton is a fair Master and I'm sure many will be happy to return."

John cleared his throat.

"I was hoping this would be a happier conversation, Mother. I am happy; truly happy for the first time in a long time."

His mother turned then, a small smile on her face. Margaret wasn't sure she'd ever seen Mrs Thornton smile. John walked over to her, and placed his hand on her shoulder. She gazed up at him and Margaret recognised the mutual look of adoration that passed between them from seeing her own mother and Frederick. The love between mother and son was a powerful thing.

"I can see. Your face is far lighter than I have ever seen it. Miss Hale, I'll credit you that. I suppose we had better plan a wedding, then."

"Yes." Margaret nodded - finally agreeing with Hannah Thornton on something.

"I don't suppose you've anyone to give you away." Mrs Thornton said thoughtfully as she sat down, gesturing for Margaret to do the same.

"No." Margaret paused, taking her seat. "My brother is unable to come to the wedding, unfortunately. He lives abroad and wouldn't want to leave his wife for too long."

"I did not know you had a brother." Mrs Thornton raised an eyebrow. "Your mother never mentioned having a son."

"No." Margaret said softly, not wishing to explain further now. She sat down opposite Mrs Thornton, changing the subject back to the wedding plans. "I suppose I might ask Captain Lennox. He is the second closest thing I have to a brother. Or I might give myself away."

"There's no need to think of such things now." John interrupted just as his mother opened her mouth to object to such an unorthodox suggestion.

"Of course." Mrs Thornton replied tightly. "Fanny will be overjoyed to organise the frilly side of things. She had so many ideas for her own wedding that I'm sure she could plan ten and still have some to spare. I am not much use at flowers and fanciful items."

"The flowers at Fanny's wedding were lovely. Her help would be very much appreciated." Margaret offered, hoping a compliment would do something to bond them.

"Yes, they were fine arrangements. A little too many for my taste, but no matter. Have you a date in mind John?" Mrs Thornton looked to her son, who was standing close to the window looking out over the empty courtyard.

"I need some time to restart the operations of the Mill. I was thinking perhaps October. Margaret?"

Margaret felt her eyes begin to close, and was jolted back to life at the sound of her name. She nodded, trying to suppress a yawn.

"October, yes. I'm sorry, could I be excused? It has been a very long day and I really must write to my aunt to explain the change of plans. She will think I have gone quite mad, I really must explain to her. I need to arrange for some things to be sent to me."

"Of course. I'll show you-"

"No John. I will show her to her room." Mrs Thornton interrupted. "While you're under my roof, Miss Hale, I will have no suggestion of impropriety. I made a promise to your mother to counsel you and I will not break that promise now. It is bad enough John insists you live with us before you are married but you will both behave."

"Mother we are not children-"

"I will not compromise on this, John. In fact, perhaps it would be better if she stayed with Fanny until the wedding."

"No." John said firmly. "No, she will stay here."

"Then you will respect my wishes." Mrs Thornton crossed her arms and looked at them both carefully.

John scowled; he did not appreciate being spoken to like an animal who couldn't control himself. He would treat Margaret with every respect she deserved, yet the memory of their time alone on the train burned bright in his mind. He longed to run away with her, to a place where all they had was each other. For a little while, at least.

"Yes, Mrs Thornton." Margaret answered before John had a chance to say anything. "I am most grateful to you for having me in your home and I agree with you. My aunt will be concerned as well, I'm sure."

"If you wish I will write to her." Mrs Thornton offered, arms folded. "To at least reassure her this bizarre situation has not left you..vulnerable."

The word hung in the air and Margaret did not know what to say. John cleared his throat, desperate to move past this awkward, stilted conversation regarding Margaret's virtue.

"I will carry her bag."

And so, they found themselves trooping up the flight of stairs to the bedroom, a strange little gang of three. John lead the way, carrying Margaret's light and small bag. Mrs Thornton followed, glaring at her son's back for being quite so ridiculous. Margaret trailed behind, stifling giggles at the ridiculous follow-the-leader game she found herself playing.

"Thank you, both of you."

She took her bag from John and entered the room. He followed her, lighting a small lamp on the table for her to write with.

"I'm sorry it is so cold in here. We've not had need to light a fire in here for a good while. I will bring you a bed warmer." Mrs Thornton said.

"Thank you, that is very kind of you. I must thank you again for your hospitality."

"You'll be family." Mrs Thornton said, sounding somewhat resigned to that fact rather than pleased by it. "We Thorntons look after our family."

"And I will do my best to do the same."

Dear Aunt Shaw

I suppose by now Henry has returned without me and you are all very cross with me. I am sorry that I have left so suddenly, and without saying goodbye. I hope I will see you again soon, so that I can explain properly.

I encountered Mr Thornton quite by chance, but upon seeing him again I realised that I cannot be without him. I am sure Henry has told you, but our trains passed at a station and we met entirely by accident on the platform. We spoke, and I told him of the business on which I went to Milton. It was then that I realised my feelings for this man went beyond the proposition I had for him. When I returned to the London train to speak with Henry, he simply handed me my bag. I saw this as his blessing to return to Milton. I was not happy in London - I was not sure I could ever be truly happy anywhere.

This evening, however, I find myself overwhelmed with the most unexpected joy. Mr Thornton and I are to be married this coming October. I would so value your help in planning the wedding.

I am not sure you would approve this match, Aunt Shaw, but I hope it will bring you some comfort to know how much my parents favoured his company. He was very kind to my mother as her health worsened, and a great companion to my father. My dear father, if he were still with us, would be greatly pleased to know that his favourite student was to become my husband.

Mr Thornton is a man who has a great mind and a great passion for his trade. I strongly feel that this marriage will be a very happy one, and I look forward greatly to the future he and I will share. I hope that you can share some of this happiness and wish us well, Aunt.

I hope, with all that I am, to hear from you soon to discuss happy things. Please do not be angry with me, dear Aunt.

I have another request that may displease you also - I ask that Dixon come back into my employ. As I embark on married life, I can think of none better to be by my side. I will also need my things. I will come to London as soon as possible to arrange this.

Yours,

Margaret.

There was a light tap at the door, so soft and quiet that Margaret wondered if it was her imagination. She was startled, even though the noise was not so loud as to warrant such a reaction. It was late - she had heard a clock chime midnight from somewhere in the house only a few moments ago.

She looked up from her letter and looked at her reflection in the mirror that rested on the dressing table. There was only dim candle light to see by, but Margaret knew she was not in any state for company. Her hair was loose, curling down her back in a tangled mess. She had already changed into her nightdress, and though it reached her ankles it would be most improper to be seen in the garment.

The gentle knocking grew a little firmer, and Margaret panicked. She had never been seen in such a state of undress by anyone save Mama and Dixon, and she should hate even Mrs Thornton to see her so undone.

She waited, hoping the knocking would go away. It did not.

She walked to the door and opened it slightly, peering round. She recoiled a little to realise it was John.

"I am sorry," he whispered, "I had to see you before I slept. I had to know this is not a dream."

"It is not a dream, Mr Thornton." Margaret whispered back. "However it is late and I am not appropriately dressed. What would your mother say?"

He smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. His hands were hot against her cool skin, and she shut her eyes to savour his touch.

"I'm sorry. I know I said there would be no impropriety, and there will not be. I just had to know that this was real."

"It is real. Now go to bed, my love. It is late and tomorrow will be very busy."

"My love." John repeated in awe. "To hear you call me that is a thing I daren't even dream. I must be awake."

"And I must be asleep now!" Margaret countered. "Sleep well, darling John."

"And you, darling Margaret." He echoed her sentiment, smiling in disbelief.

As he turned, she reached out and grabbed his hand. He stumbled backwards, watching as she raised his hand to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"I really am the luckiest man on God's Earth." He sighed, raising his hand to caress her cheek. "I will do my best to make you feel the same."

Margaret kissed him once more and pushed the door shut. She leant against the door, her heart racing. She rested her head against the door and heard a thump on the other side.

"John, are you still there? Go to bed!" She hissed.

She heard a small chuckle from the other side. She smiled to herself, listening to John's footsteps disappear down the hallway.

She sat back down at the desk. She took another piece of paper from her notepad and began to write.

Dearest Fred

I write to you with the most wonderful news. I am to be married, this coming October. I will marry Mr John Thornton. You may remember him as the scowling man from the station that awful night you left Milton.

I am sure Aunt Shaw is absolutely furious with me, as this engagement has come as quite a surprise to everybody - including me. I had been visiting Milton with Henry to discuss business (as you know, Mr Bell left me property in Milton) and - oh Fred the story sounds so ridiculous I can scarcely believe it to be true, yet it happened only this afternoon. Mr Thornton - John - was passing through the same station as Henry and I on our way back to London, in the opposite direction. I am sure you will be quite scandalised to know that I got off the train to London and returned to Milton with Mr Thornton. He has asked me to be his wife. I said yes without a second thought.

Father thought a great deal of him, and I am sure if you met him properly you would like him too. He is a little serious but I have seen a change in him and I truly believe that he will be a figure in business that is admired and held as an example of what it is to be a good master. Of course, that is not his only endearing quality, but business seems to be the ruling hand of Milton and all people here care about!

I am currently living at his home with his mother, who seems most confused and a little put out by my sudden arrival! I worry that there will be gossip, but I have been put in the most remote bedroom possible and I am sure I will hear Mrs Thornton prowling the hallways to make sure I stay put! I wonder if it would be best to live somewhere else, but I have not thought so far ahead. I hope to travel to London soon and bring Dixon back with me. Mother would have liked that, I think.

I think of you every day, darling brother, and wish that you could be by my side on my wedding day. My only trepidation is the very real possibility that I will have no family to wish me well. I do so wish that Mother and Father could be here to share the occasion. I find myself feeling rather alone in this new life I am about to embark upon. I know that you will think of me as often as I think of you and I hope that you will give my marriage your blessing.

Send my love to Delores. I hope that you are happy, Fred. Perhaps Cadiz would be the perfect place for a honeymoon, if the winter seas are kind and the mill can do without Mr Thornton for a few weeks.

Your sister,

Margaret

Margaret rested her pen on the table, an exhausted smile playing on her lips. Her hand cramp from writing so rapidly. She felt a thousand emotions within her and they had poured onto the page.

The candle on the desk flickered and died; it had burnt through, a puddle of wax all that remained. The room was plunged into darkness and Margaret took that as a sign that it was time for bed.

She got into the large bed, sinking against the soft mattress. The sheets were smooth (cotton, of course) and a comfortable temperature thanks to the bed warmer that Mrs Thornton had promised. The room certainly was cold - yet somehow, Margaret had hardly noticed the temperature at all.

She was simply too happy.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tells his sister about the enagement and Margaret decides on a new venture at the mill.

"You are joking?!" Fanny asked incredulously. She fanned herself rapidly, feigning shock.

"Dramatic as ever, Fanny." John muttered, reaching for the teapot.

John had permitted himself a rare late start that morning - there was much to do but as the mill would take some weeks to resume operations, a slow morning could be allowed. Truth be told, he had hardly slept the previous night. He had tossed and turned for what had felt like the entire night, listening as the clock downstairs chimed each passing hour. A few restless hours of sleep had come to him just as the dawn began to break. He was hoping to see Margaret. He wanted to ensure she had slept well and was comfortable here. Yet, as the clock struck nine, there was no sign of her.

"I just cannot believe this! I come for breakfast and am met with such a surprise! I can barely comprehend it!"

"You will be civil to her." John said firmly. "No snide comments. Mother has accepted the situation, I expect you to do the same. You may not be a Thornton in name anymore but your blood is no different. She'll be your sister-in-law and you'll show her basic human kindness, if you can manage that."

"I'm not yours to boss around anymore, John." Fanny countered. "And I'm here to see Mother, not you!"

"Mother will say the same thing when she is back from talking to the servants. Besides, I am nearly thirty. About time I took a wife."

"I didn't think anyone would have you." Fanny said with an affectionate smile. "I just don't know what to say, John! It is just such a surprise. I thought you couldn't stand each other!"

John had a strange relationship with his sister - she had been so young when their father died and he had felt duty bound to do everything he could to make sure that she had a good life. He remembered one Christmas when he saved a little money to buy her a new ragdoll as a surprise. His mother had frowned, but Fanny had carried that ragdoll around until she was too old to do so. Even then, he knew she had kept it hidden away in a corner of her room. He had seen it packed amongst her things when she moved to her married home.

"I hope you will try to like her."

"I will try. I suppose it will be nice to have a married friend. Even if she is married to you. Why is she marrying you now, anyway? You're about to lose everything and become destitute. You might even end up in a workhouse!"

"Thank you for phrasing it so delicately, sister." John replied, wondering how a woman as careful with her words as his mother could have given life to someone like Fanny. "I have found a new investor. The mill will be reopening shortly, run and tell Watson that."

"Someone's lent you all the money to restart the Mill when you've no orders and no workers?! What fool did that?"

"Me."

Margaret stood in the doorway. She was dressed, of course, in the same clothes as the day before. She had struggled a little with her corset; she was not used to dressing alone. Her hair was none too neat either.

John thought she looked beautiful.

"Margaret." John stood up immediately, feeling like a schoolboy the way his heart thumped in his chest at the sight of her.

"Miss Hale." Fanny said sharply, glaring at John. She leaned towards John to hiss in his ear as he sat back in his chair. "Where are your manners, John? Using her first name is most improper."

"Mrs Watson." Margaret dipped her head in greeting. "It is nice to see you again."

"Is it?" Fanny asked, genuinely baffled. "Anyway, what do you mean 'me'?"

"I lent Mr Thornton the money. As an investment." Margaret said, sitting down in the spare seat between Fanny and John.

"My business affairs are private, Miss Hale." John said sharply, and Margaret blinked in shock at his curt tone. He winced a little; he hadn't meant to sound so harsh. He took a deep breath.

"I mean, I do not wish to discuss them with my gossiping little sister who will run and tell her husband every detail. All you need to know, Fanny, is that Margaret is to be my partner in the business."

Margaret was visibly surprised at that. It was true they had not yet discussed the intricacies of the loan she was giving him, yet he could not imagine a better partner in business - or in life. She was level headed where he was inclined to temper, he was shrewd where she was naive.

John truly felt that having Margaret be more involved in the business would be of invaluable benefit to him. This industry was entirely run by men, and as a result it could be cold and unfeeling. He tried to treat his workers fairly - after all, it made sound sense to have a workforce who were not only healthy but did not hate your guts.

"What interest have you in running a cotton mill? I had heard Mr Bell left you a great sum of money. If I had the means to be an independent woman in London I most certainly wouldn't waste my time coming back here!"

John watched as Margaret's cheeks flushed. Fanny was so tactless, as ever, but her prying into Margaret's finances and judgement of every aspect of her life seemed to infuriate Margaret. Her lips were pursed tightly, her fingers picking at each other in her lap.

"I would rather see my money put to work than lie in a bank. I know times have not been the easiest here at Marlborough Mills but Mr Thornton is the finest businessman I know. I cannot think of a better investment."

"Well, I am happy that you will not be leaving this house, John." Fanny conceded. "I was worried for a while that Mother would come and live with Mr Watson and I. Not that she wouldn't be welcome, of course.."

"Mother will stay here, do not worry yourself. I don't think she could stand to live amongst that garish wallpaper you've plastered all over the house, Fanny."

"Oh John, you've no idea of the latest fashion! You still have not seen my house, Miss Hale! You shall have to come to tea this week."

"Of course. I'm not sure of my plans yet, I believe I will be quite busy. I must go back to London this week to collect my things and speak to my aunt."

"Not so soon, surely?" John asked, draining his tea cup.

"I only have one dress with me and a few financial documents. Hardly enough to start married life on. I will send a letter to my aunt today letting her know I am coming and asking her to send someone to meet me at the station on Thursday."

"You're not going alone." John told her, and she laughed.

"I will be quite alright! You have so much to do here and-"

"I have people I can see in London. It would be quicker than writing all the ins and outs of what I require from them, so really it would be a business trip."

"The two of you travelling alone together? It doesn't sound right to me, I'm sure Mother will not like it."

"I don't really care, Fanny." John sighed. "Who is there to accompany us, anyway? You are a married woman now with no need to come, Mother hates London. We will go alone, Miss Hale will stay with her family and I will stay in a hotel."

"Well I should hope so." Fanny huffed. "Mother would have never allowed me to go to London alone with Mr Watson."

"I am not Mr Watson." John said simply. He stood up and pushed back his chair. "Now, I must attend to my business. Miss Hale, would you be so good as to join me in the office when you've eaten?"

"Yes, of course."

John walked past the two women, and when he was sure his sister wasn't looking he gently squeezed Margaret's shoulder as he walked past. She let out a small, surprised squeak and quickly covered it with a cough. Fanny eyed her suspiciously, ignoring her brother as he left the room. His heavy footsteps echoed as he went downstairs. The front door shut softly, and Fanny and Margaret sat in silence as they ate their breakfast.

"You'll get used to him." Fanny said eventually with a small smile. "He can be quite nice sometimes. Occasionally. When the moon is in the right place in the sky."

Margaret laughed.

"I was wondering if you would like to help plan the wedding."

"Ooh yes!" Fanny squealed. "Oh I would love that!"

"Just something simple, I think. I don't have many people to invite and I doubt Mr Thornton will either."

"I suppose. John never was one to have many friends. Mother will have a list, I'm sure. It'll be men he knows through business and their wives, mostly. Our distant family will be invited too, I'm not sure if you remember them from my wedding."

"No, but the church was full I remember."

Fanny glowed with pride.

"Yes, it was rather busy."

An awkward silence settled over them again; Margaret had always hated small talk and she was well aware that Fanny had never liked her. They were chalk and cheese, yet they were to be family and Margaret was determined that she would at least try to be civil, even if Fanny was rather barbed in return.

"I was wondering if I might ask another favour. All of my clothes are in London and I am sure I look quite wretched. Might I borrow an old dress of yours until I can get my things? I will clean it of course, and return it to you."

"I am a little smaller than you." Fanny said, flicking her eyes up and down Margaret's slender frame. "But I suppose I have something that'll do you."

Margaret walked over to the office after she had finished eating. Mrs Thornton had not returned from re-engaging the servants and Fanny had left shortly after John, having grown impatient waiting for her mother.

She walked through the empty mill floor first. It was not a shock to see it like this, of course, but it was still a jarring experience even the second time. It was so quiet, the machines standing stock still and unmanned. The air was clear, though the floor was covered in cotton still. It gave her great comfort to know that business would resume shortly and order would be restored. As she walked to John's office, her skirts disturbed the thick cotton blanket onto the floor and whipped it into the air.

She tapped lightly on the office door.

"Come."

"You wanted to see me?" Margaret asked as she entered the room.

She pushed the heavy door closed behind her, though there was little need. John stood up from his chair and moved from behind his desk to stand beside her. Margaret stood a little straighter, aware that being enclosed in a room alone together was very much the impropriety that Mrs Thornton had forbidden.

"Yes, I hope I didn't make you feel rushed. Has Mother returned?"

"Not yet. Fanny went home."

"So, we are alone again."

He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her to him. She let out a surprised gasp, which seemed to only encourage him. He leant down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, letting his lips linger there. She closed her eyes, keeping her head still.

"Indeed we are. Do not get distracted from the matter at hand, Mr Thornton. You wished to discuss business with me."

"But this is so much more enjoyable." He murmured against her skin.

"This will not do!" Margaret laughed, pushing him gently away and walking to the desk.

She sat down in the chair facing his and placed her hands in her lap. She had her back to Mr Thornton, who stared after her, head still inclined towards the space where she had been. He exhaled, a smile lingering on his lips.

"Fine, to business."

"When you said you wished me to be your partner in the business, what do you mean?"

"I mean what I said." He shrugged. "Be my partner."

"John, you don't need a partner. I gave you the money as an investor."

"You are investing an enormous sum of money into this place. Now I have always been loath to have anybody else involved in the running of my mill but I believe you would be a great guidance to me. I feel - I feel that I have failed and I have lost faith in myself to run this business. I cannot risk your investment, I cannot employ workers just to let them down again."

It always amazed Margaret how open John was about his feelings; she had never known another man like it. He stated his greatest fears and insecurities as though he were reading from a dictionary. She had not always been honest, both to others and herself - she regretted that enormously. She felt as though every emotion had to be monitored and held closely within herself. Mr Thornton was somehow both discrete and blisteringly honest about his emotions to her.

"You did not fail, John."

"I did. I lost my business, almost lost my home. It is only thanks to you that I can salvage anything. I feel that I need another pair of eyes. Who better than you to be those eyes?"

"But I know nothing of how to run a mill!" Margaret protested. "And nobody will do business with a woman who does not know what she is doing!"

"But you understand people, you understand my workers. You're the one who managed to calm them during the strike-"

"I had a stone thrown at my head, I hardly think that was very effective!"

"No, that was my fault. You know I have a temper, you've seen it often enough."

"I have." Margaret agreed. "And I have seen you at work. You are a master in every sense - you do not need a mistress beside you."

"My mother has taken that role before."

"And she can keep it, for I do not want it." Margaret told him firmly, though she smiled as she said it.

He rubbed at his temple and managed a small chuckle.

"She can be rather stern, I suppose."

"Yes, I had noticed that. John, I will not be your business partner. You do not need me! However, I will do whatever you require to make this venture a success - but in my role as your wife, not your financer. You are a fair master, a hard worker and utterly dedicated to your trade. I am not afraid of hard work, but I think you are experiencing self doubt. Nothing else. Certainly not a lack of ability."

"You refuse me?"

"You are unsure of yourself." Margaret said gently, repeating her previous point. "Nothing more."

John rested his head on the palm of his hand, his elbow supporting the weight. His shoulders drooped and once again he looked weary with exhaustion. His eyes were shadowed, the corners of his mouth downturned.

"Yes."

He turned to look out of the window. The empty courtyard stretched beneath them, another reminder of the shell he had created. This was his fault. People were out of work because of him. How many children starved because their parents could not find other work?

"John, you don't need me. You do not owe me anything, you are not in my debt."

"I think that I am. Fifteen thousand pounds, if I remember correctly."

"You are doing the favour to me, remember. I told you yesterday you are not indebted to me and I will not interfere in your business."

"What if I fail again?" He muttered. "What kind of husband will I be? What will our children inherit?"

"We are not even married yet and here you are worrying about our children. John, you have had a string of bad luck. I can not make promises you will never had bad luck again but we have to try."

"I have never felt such fear in all my life. What kind of a man am I to admit weakness?"

"A rare one." Margaret got up and went around the desk. She stood before him, the window behind her bathing her in light as he looked up.

"You look like an angel. I can scarcely believe my luck. I have wanted you for so long."

He held his hands out to her and she held them tightly. She stood while he sat staring at her hands in his. He looked tired, she thought. Older, somehow. These past few months must have been truly exhausting to him. She freed one of her hands to reach out and stroke his hair.

"I love you." She said absent-mindedly, hardly aware that the words were even leaving her.

"Really?" He asked in awe.

He had first said those words to her over a year ago, in that proposal that went hideously wrong. He had never dared to hope that he would hear her say those words back to him. It was too wonderful that they were here together - yet hearing her say what he had scarcely dreamed was somehow even better.

"Yes."

"I love you. God, I love you more than ever."

She knelt before him, clasping his hands tightly. She spoke softly, trying to ease his worries.

"You don't need me here, John. I have every faith in you that you will take my money and use it well. I will be beside you in all things, but I don't believe that this is my place. Did you sleep at all last night? You look exhausted."

"Not really. Too much to think about." He said dismissively.

The truth was, even in the few hours of sleep he had managed, his dreams were haunted by memories of his father. That, he supposed, was where the problem really lay; he was terrified of falling into overwhelming amounts of debt like his father had. He had seen the destruction debt could do to a family. Hell, he had spent years of his life working tirelessly to ensure every single debt was settled. He was getting too old to do that again, he could not do that to his mother. He could not leave Margaret in the same poisition his mother had been in.

"I was the same. I lay there all night, thinking of the future. Wondering what my aunt will have to say about all this, whether or not it was the right choice-"

John's shoulders stiffened at the implication that she was experiencing doubts. A night's rest and the light of a new day could change so much that he was suddenly overwhelmed with a new fear - that she might change her mind.

"And the conclusion that I came to is that lying in the dark fretting does nothing except make the fear seem real. In the daylight everything seems much more hopeful. I hope that you will see that too."

"It is all starting to look better already. You are much prettier than the demons that tormented me last night."

"I think perhaps we should return to discussing more civilised matters. I actually had another idea I was thinking of bringing to you."

"Oh?"

"I was thinking perhaps once the mill is once again up and running we might use the other spare shed that isn't used as the dining hall to start a small school room. Just to teach the children and perhaps any willing adults to read. Once their shifts are over. So many cannot afford to go to school and a free lesson or two I'm sure would be appreciated. My father enjoyed running his lectures but I think he was rather too ambitious with the subject matter. Reading, writing, arithmetic would be plenty for them to be getting on with."

"A smart idea. But a teacher costs money."

"I was thinking that I would run the lessons."

Margaret stood up and turned to face the window again. John frowned at her back, unsure of the idea of his future wife becoming a teacher.

"I'm not sure Mother would approve."

"I don't remember asking for her approval." Margaret said rather sharply. John raised an eyebrow at her tone, and she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I mean - I am able to make my own decisions. We are not married yet. Besides, this will keep me close to you as you wished just moments ago. The lessons would not get in the way of working hours, just an hour or two a week."

John thought on that for a moment; why exactly was he trying to stop her doing this? It made sense to have workers who could read, it meant they could move on to more complex work and provided them with a better quality of life. If the children could work and attend school, that meant that the young workforce would be available to work rather than at school - if the parents could afford to send them, which in most cases they could not.

"I think it a fine idea. I would not stop you doing anything, I do not wish to be that sort of a husband. It is just that my mother is a traditional sort of woman; teachers are not usually married women."

"A wedding ring doesn't make a woman stupid, you know. At least I certainly hope not or I might have to reconsider all together." Margaret teased.

John pulled her down suddenly so that she landed squarely in his lap. She screamed at the unexpected action. He held her tighter, so she was flush against him nestled in his lap. She found herself face to face with him, scarcely an inch between their bodies.

"Reconsider my foot." He kissed her then, more passionately and posessively than he had before. Margaret froze, unsure of what to do. He pulled away. "I'm sorry, I don't know what got over me."

"I have never been so close to a man." Margaret said, her voice getting caught in her throat. This was a new type of intimacy, one that was sinful and unheard of. "I am not used to this."

"I hope you do not think I make a habit of behaving like this with women."

John, though he would not admit this to anyone, was a rare kind of a man indeed. He was a bachelor in his late twenties who had never truly yearned for the touch of a woman. He had thought of Margaret that way, intrusive thoughts coming late at night. Other than that, there was nothing. He had been too consumed with work to womanise or call on prostitutes as he knew others did. There were other unmarried masters and they had made it clear to him that they did not share his feelings. He had heard rumours of one having to send away a maid who had become pregnant. It was immoral, lust driven behaviour and he had wanted no part in it. His focus was on business, always on business.

"No, I was not implying that." Margaret's cheeks were flushed a painful looking shade of red. "This is not a proper thing to talk about. I shouldn't be sat like this, we shouldn't-"

John sat back, pushing her forward slightly and helping her to stand. She moved away quickly, almost as though she had been burnt. She was flustered, and John cursed himself for making her clearly feel so uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me. Perhaps we shouldn't spend time alone until the wedding. Forgive me but whenever I am with you, I want to touch you, to kiss you.."

"John!"

"You're right. I'm sorry. Let's go and look at the spare shed and see what can be done about making a school room. Then I need to write letters, go see Higgins.."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No, no I should do it. He'll spread the word, hopefully a fair few will come back. It'll take a while to get new people trained up." He took a deep breath. "I would appreciate it if we didn't discuss my feelings of - self doubt, you called it. It was a moment of madness."

"John, you are human. It is alright to be frightened sometimes."

"If you say so, love. Now, let's go look at this school room before I turn into Fanny and faint clean away."


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reflects on his journey to Helstone and Margaret makes plans for her school room.

The previous day

John lay staring without thought at the ceiling. He did not know what the time was; he'd left his pocket watch downstairs and was steadfastly ignoring the chiming of the clock in the dining room. Sleep had eluded him for weeks and the passing of the hours marked by the chiming bells felt mocking to him.

He had not closed the curtains last night as the moon had been full and he found it a pleasant thing to look at. The silvery light had seeped through the dirty bedroom window and bathed his bed in moonlight. It made him feel peaceful; perhaps Margaret was looking at that same moon. It was a thing he could never explain - why he yearned so strongly for Margaret after so many months had passed. It was consuming him, yet there was nothing he could do to stop this feeling.

The past few months had almost broken him. He felt helpless as his business collapsed around him, his debts spiralling as orders went unfulfilled. Some nights he had just sat in his office for the entire night trying to think of a solution to his problem.

There was no solution.

His mother had been beside him every step of the way, pawning whatever they had to try and get some cash flow through the business but it was not enough. Fanny had watched as things grew worse, but John had refused any offer of help from her husband. John was a proud man and he could not bring himself to profit from the speculation Watson had taken part in. It went against everything he stood for.

The bank refused him any more money, Latimer could not help any more than he had already. The situation had been desperate yet now the mill was closed, there was a strange sense of relief. Now he could try and get it back - or move on. They would have to leave the house but John knew his mother could live with Fanny if needs be. He would try and get work wherever he could but his priority was ensuring his mother was safe and comfortable.

He closed his eyes, wondering how he went from thinking about nothing to dwelling once again on his business failings. He sat up, moving so his legs hung down the side of the bed and his bare feet rested against the cold floor.

What was the point of getting dressed? He had nowhere to be, nobody to see. How wonderful it would be to escape Milton, just for one day. To escape his cares and the pressures that had mounted around him.

He thought of Margaret again; she came so easily into his thoughts. He remembered her talking about Helstone, as well as Mr and Mrs Hale. They had all had their own thoughts on the place but he remembered Margaret and Mr Hale talking about yellow roses that had grown all over the place. How strange it must have been for them all to come from a place like that to Milton. There were hardly any flowers here at all, even in summer. He should like to see flowers.

John had surprised himself in the grief he had felt for Mr Hale on his passing. the man was like a father to him and John found that his loss struck up a great sorrow in him. Mr Hale was a much gentler man than John - a true Southerner. The other Masters may have thought him somewhat foolish, but John saw that he worked hard to understand his fellow man through literature and philosophy. Their lessons together had taught John that there was true beauty in the written word - and practical things to learn too. He'd always thank Mr Hale for that.

He found himself dressing quickly, writing a quick note at the desk he kept in his bedroom and racing down the stairs in the darkness. His chest bubbled with something he did not recognize; excitement, perhaps.

He walked quickly to the train station. The streets were empty, and as he walked past the town square a clock chimed four o'clock. He stopped then, wondering just what he was doing making such a journey so early without telling anyone. His mother would think him mad. Was he mad? Was this madness?

He continued on anyway, reaching the station in time to catch the early morning train to London. From there, he would go to Southampton. It was a long, expensive journey that he could probably ill afford but one that was calling out to him. Really, this must be madness. John was not a man that could be called impulsive in any way at all - but impulse was the only reason he was doing this.

The train journey was long and uneventful. He managed to sleep a little, the rocking motion of the train carriage lulling him like a babe. When he woke up, they were just pulling into Southampton station. From there, he found a carriage driver willing to take him on to Helstone.

They drove out of the city and into the country side. In a matter of minutes, the busy port of Southampton was behind them and they were surrounded by rolling green fields as far as his eye could see.

He bade the driver to wait; he would not be here long. This was someone's home after all, and a strange man with a strange accent loitering around would probably raise some questions. Yet as soon as he stepped into the green field, he felt a smile spread over his face. He took a deep breath; the air was cleaner than he had ever breathed before. Even before the rapid rise of industry in Milton there had still been a heavy fug of smoke that settled over the city from fireplaces and the slum areas.

To be in the country was blissful to him. The sun was warm on his back., a slight breeze running through his unbrushed hair. John removed his jacket, not caring if anyone saw. He walked along the hedgerows for what felt like forever. Endless rows of green foliage so pure it almost glowed in the sunlight. It struck him that he must have arrived too late in the year to see the yellow roses that Margaret had spoken so fondly of. As he walked on past the flowerless bush, a flash of soft yellow caught his eye. He leaned down to pluck the tiny bud from it's stem and raised it to his nose.

He thought of Margaret.

John lead Margaret to the empty shed at the back of the yard. He kept the keys for the mill on a metal loop attached to his belt. He lifted the loop up and searched for the correct key. There were many keys on the ring; a mill this size had many doors and he was a strong believer in keeping doors closed. It was not only a security measure; he had heard that keeping doors locked prevented the spread of fire, if only for a little while. So every door in the place had a lock and was locked when not in use. This particular room hadn't been opened in years. He eventually found the one he was looking for, a rusting silver key.

"I'm not sure what you'll find in here, it's been a long while since anyone's opened it up."

"Then it's about time we put it to good use."

Margaret stepped in front of him and pushed open the door. It was as clear as John said it would be that it had lain abandoned for many years. The small stream of light coming in from the open door made the thick cobwebs on the wooden beams visible. The stone floor was covered in debris and the only things inside were a few pieces of old machinery that were being stored in here.

"I'll have it cleared out for you." John told her. "These are all broken, I'd forgotten they were here in all honesty."

"I didn't think you capable of forgetting anything, Mr Thornton."

"So, will this do you?"

"We could have two long tables either side of the room. One for the boys and one for the girls." Margaret said as she paced around the dark shed. "A large chalk board at the front of the room, and slates for each of the students. I should like the children to have a chance to draw as well, so paper and charcoal would be useful too."

"This sounds expensive."

"I am paying for the school room." Margaret said firmly. "Do not concern yourself with the cost. I want to do something to make life around here better. Perhaps we could even teach the children who are too young to work, so they will be able to read when they start work."

"This project seems to be growing larger with every word that leaves your lips, love."

"It is nice to have something to focus on. I have never truly had a purpose, John. I followed Mother and Father around, doing whatever they asked of me. Now they have gone and I have my chance to make my own way in life."

"What about me?"

"I hope that you will approve of my decisions. I will always keep you in mind, of course."

"Thank you." He said with a small smile. "It is good to know I will be somewhere in your considerations."

"I will always consider your wishes, of course I will. To speak truthfully, for the last few months my thoughts have been of little else besides you and Marlborough Mills."

"I've thought of you for so long. And this place, of course. There was nothing else to think of as it crumbled around me."

Margaret looked over at him, unsure whether he was joking or not. He had a funny sense of humour that had taken her a long time to understand. He had his back turned to her, examining a patch of wall with a brick missing - so she was still unsure of his meaning.

"Well there are happier things to think about now. I think this will do nicely."

"As long as it doesn't get in the way of the workings of the mill, you can do as you'd like with this room. After all, this whole place is yours."

Margaret winced a little then; she did not want John to feel as though she was exercising control over him and the mill. That was not her intention at all; she was merely excited about having something to do.

"Thank you. It will not, I promise. Please stop thinking of me as your landlord, John. You are the tennant and while you are the tennant what happens here is up to you, not me. I just think as I am now in such a position of privilege that I would like to do something for the people who work so hard for so little."

"Are you saying I don't pay them enough?" John asked.

"No, no I don't mean that-"

"I am more generous than others, Margaret. We've had words before about the way you believe I treat my workers but I thought we had moved past all that."

"We have, I meant no offence." She walked over to him and took his hand in hers. "I just mean - sometimes, to one who came from such a different world as I did, things can appear rather unbalanced. We are planning a wedding whilst families live ten in one room. I just wonder if there is a way I can improve their lot."

"Margaret, you know folk around here don't take kindly to charity." John warned her.

"This is not putting money in a cup, John. This is taking an active role in the community and providing a service."

"You are not charging them, so they'll see it as charity."

"Perhaps some will - but I hope in time they will see it perhaps as an advantage of working here. If nobody attends my lessons you can have your room back and I will find another way to occupy myself."

"I'm sure you will have a few students to keep busy. Mary Higgins was learning to read last I heard, the Boucher children too. I'm sure Higgins would be happy to have the children kept occupied for a while."

"I hope so. There are already a few schools nearby, either for boys or once a week at the church. The girls need to have a fair chance at an education as well. I value mine so greatly. In fact, I was hoping to find a local girl who I could train as a second teacher."

"You haven't even bought a slate yet and you're needing another teacher?" John asked.

"I would pay her, of course."

Margaret walked over to the fireplace, kneeling to assess the brickwork. It would be important to have a fire going even in summer - these rooms were sure to grow very cold and damp, and a small fire would allow her to heat water for washing hands (and faces, as was needed). She would need to purchase several lamps too, as it did not make sense to install gas lighting until the school was successful.

"How will you pay her when you're not taking any money for the lessons?"

"I'll use the interest you're paying me." She replied. "I have a little money left over from the loan to see the school set up."

"It doesn't sound like good business sense."

"This isn't a business idea, John. This is something I feel I can offer to your employees and for the first few months I will do it all myself, but I suppose the time will come when I won't be able to teach and will need someone to take over my duties."

"Oh?"

Margaret looked at John, unsure how to word what she was thinking. She had been letting her thoughts run wild and had said something that she hadn't meant to. She cleared her throat slightly, feeling embarrassed.

"I don't think it would be proper to teach if I were expecting, for example."

"Oh." John said in reply, raising his eyebrows a little in surprise at her reasoning.

"I would of course continue to teach after we are married but I suppose I must concede to some things. But that is a long way in the future."

"A long way?" John questioned.

"I know we cannot plan these things." Margaret felt herself begin to blush; she found herself frequently being drawn into conversations with John about things that should not be discussed so freely. "But there is so much to do before we are married, and surely it would be better to have everything settled before we welcome children?"

"I hadn't given it much thought. But like you say, one cannot plan these things."

A strange kind of silence settled over them. John could not quite look her in the eyes and Margaret found herself inspecting the beams of the building very closely. The silence was eventually broken by the chiming of church bells announcing mid day.

"I must go and post my letters." Margaret said as she realised the time. "I don't want to miss the collection."

"Letters?"

"Yes, I told you last night that I must write to my aunt." Margaret reminded him. "I'm sure she is going scarlett with rage at this very moment."

"Of course, I forgot. Do you want me to come with you to post them?"

"No, no I can manage. I'm sure you have lots to do here."

"Too much." John rubbed at his temple.

"You're tired."

"It isn't important. I don't sleep much these days, I suppose it's become a bit wearying. Don't worry yourself about it."

"Your worries are my worries now, John. Is there anything I can help with?"

"No, no I can do it. I'd best get to work. I'll see you this evening."

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, his hand holding her cheek. He stayed there for a moment, letting their foreheads touch. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to stay there. Margaret did not want to move; she hardly wanted to breath. His skin was warm against hers, even in the cool air of the outhouse.

"I should go." He murmured. "I could stay like this forever."

"There will be time for that." Margaret said, stepping back from him. He smiled at her, and she couldn't help but smile back. His face was so different when he smiled - he could look so hard, so stern yet there was an overwhelming kindness that came over his face when he smiled.

"Yes, I suppose there will be. I'm off, I'll be in the office preparing letters until this evening."

"I'll go for a walk, I think. It is a pleasant day and I haven't been to Mama's grave for a long time."

John nodded. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

"I'll see you later."

She waved goodbye to him, leaving the newly established school room. When she turned back, John hadn't moved from the dark room. She sighed, wondering the true toll the mill's closure had taken on him.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret bumps into some old friends and John makes a confession.

Margaret walked down the street near Crampton. So little had changed in her absence, and many people stopped her to say hello and remark on her return. She nodded and smiled but did not say the reason she had returned. She was sure the news of the engagement would spread around Milton soon enough but for now she did not wish to share the happy news.

“Miss Hale?”

Margaret turned to see who had called for her, and was surprised to see Mr Latimer. He was alone, Margaret was thankful to see. She knew his daughter Anne did not like her; they had little in common aside from both being women of a similar age. 

Mr Latimer crossed the street and tipped his hat to her. Margaret nodded her head in greeting.

“Mr Latimer.”

“This certainly is a surprise. I thought you’d long gone to London.” He said, the unasked question of why she had returned hanging in the air. 

“I have come back.” Margaret told him, and for a moment she saw his tight smile waiver. 

“For a visit?”

“For good. I’m sorry Mr Latimer, I must go I’m expected elsewhere. It was nice to see you again.”

Margaret turned and walked down the street, stopping at the post box to drop in her letters. She wondered what Fred would make of her news; it would surely come as a huge surprise to him as she had never hinted at any kind of romantic inclination towards anybody, certainly not John. She knew in her bones that Aunt Shaw would not be pleased.

She hesitated, holding the letter addressed to her aunt against her chest. Aunt Shaw was owed an explanation and it would not do to be cowardly. She took a deep breath and put the letter into the slot, sighing as she heard it land on top of the other letters in the box.

She wanted to visit the carpenters to organise the making of the tables she required, so she walked on. There was a carpenter that she had seen when visiting the Higgins’ home before, and she decided she would give them the business.

It was a pleasant day, as pleasant as it could be in the heart of Milton. Smoke hung low in the air as it always did, noise echoing from every corner of the narrow cobbled streets. Most people were in work at this hour, though a few faces she recognised from Marlborough Mills were going about their business. Some carried babies, others simply standing against walls watching the world pass by.

The ones who noticed her looked at her with surprise; she had not come this way the previous day, hoping that nobody would know she had come back. She hadn’t the time to visit her friends, and hoped to avoid being noticed so as to not cause them offence.

Now, of course, she did not care who saw her; she was here for good, this was her home once more.

“Miss Margaret!” A voice came from behind Margaret.

Margaret knew the voice immediately, turning with a broad smile to see Mary Higgins standing there. She looked the same; still slight, still timid and hesitant. It was lovely to see her. 

“Mary! Oh, how wonderful to see you!”

“What are you doin’ back miss? I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“I have come back to live here again.” Margaret told her.

She wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Mary the true reason she had come back to Milton; that she and John were to marry. Margaret was not as close to Mary as she had been to Bessie, but she had a great deal of affection for Bessie’s younger sister.

Margaret thought about Bessie then; what would her reaction have been to all this? A knowing smile, a comment that she had known all along that Margaret had feelings for the master. 

“Father will be pleased to see you come back. The master too.” Mary said with a small smile.

She was a shy girl but Margaret knew there was a careful quality to her; she took pride in her work, and she listened and watched all that went on around her.

“Yes. Is your father at home? I would very much like to see him.”

“Aye, he is.”

“Have you found new jobs?” Margaret asked as they began to walk towards Mary’s street.

“Not yet, Miss. We’re looking but no luck. Half our street worked for Thornton, none of us have had any luck.”

Margaret remembered the desperation that had overwhelmed that area of the town during the strike. The starvation, the tension that formed between them all. She hoped things were not as bad now.

“I will bring a basket later, for the young children who have no food.”

“I don’t know many who will take it, Miss. Most of them knew what was comin’, they prepared for it as much as they could. It’s not been too long. We have enough to last three more weeks, that’s if we give the Boucher littlun’s most of the food. Any longer without work and it might be different.”

Margaret wondered if she should tell Mary that the mill would be reopening and that everybody would be able to resume working again very soon, but she thought better of it. That was John’s place, not hers. 

“I was wondering Mary, how goes your reading?”

“Well, Miss. I can read whole pages of books now.”

“Excellent. You see, I have an idea that I would very much like to talk to you about. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“What’s wrong with now?” 

“I - it is not my place to say yet, but I must wait to tell you until I have a more certain idea of the arrangements.”

“Well you know where to find me. I tried to find work in the kitchens of the other Masters houses, but nobody were hiring.”

“Oh Mary, I’m sure something good will happen soon. I am certain of it.”

They reached the small house, standing by the old wooden door. The sound of crying, hungry babies echoed through the cramped street. Margaret’s stomach twisted at the awful sound - there was little comfort in knowing things would soon change if it was too late for the babes that didn't have enough to eat. Mary had said people were prepared, yet they had so little to begin with Margaret doubted they were able to put much of their wages aside.

“Thank you Miss, but there’s not much to be certain about. Come in, anyway.” Mary pushed the door open. “Father, we’ve company.”

“Who is it?” Margaret heard Nicholas’ familiar growl.

“A visitor from London.” Margaret said, stepping inside.

Nicholas sat at their small table, surrounded by the Boucher children. They were growing fast, and two of the girls rushed to greet Margaret, clinging to her legs.

“Well, this is a surprise. Another visitor.” Nicholas said, nodding his head. Margaret closed the door behind her, moving further into the room.

“Who else-”

“Miss Hale.” A familiar voice said, and Margaret turned to see John standing in the middle of the room. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“The Master comes with good news, Mary.” Nicholas said, standing up. “We’re to get our jobs back.”

“Really?!” Mary asked. She did not smile or show much emotion, but Margaret could tell she was pleased. Mary never gave much away.

“Yes, I hope you will resume your work in the kitchen. Mary makes an excellent stew, Miss Hale.” John said. 

It was strange, hearing him speak to her just as he used to. Her name on his lips was given new life, a new meaning. She would not be Miss Hale for much longer, she would be Mrs Thornton. That would be a strange thing indeed.

“I know, she helped Dixon in the kitchen several times.” Margaret said. “Mr Thornton, perhaps you should tell Nicholas the other news.”

“I was going to wait for you.” John said, his eyes softening as he moved to stand by her side. Margaret knew he did not mix emotion and business, but Nicholas and Mary were her friends. She wanted them to know her happy news.

“Miss Hale,” John continued, his mouth turning up into a smile. He paused, trying to find the words. “Miss Hale and I are to be married this coming October.”

“About time too.” Nicholas said. “I don’t want to talk out of turn but I am happy for you both. I hope you have a fine life together.”

He reached for John’s hand, shaking it firmly.

“Congratulations Miss.” Mary said quietly. “So that is why you are back.”

“Yes, it is.”

Margaret did not tell them of her business arrangement with John - he was intensely private about his business affairs and she intended to respect that. Though she had seen his softer side, he was not a man that tolerated even the smallest amount of gossip about his life. She would not divulge such delicate information, even to the closest friends she had here in Milton.

“ I must be going, I’ve got much to be getting on with. Can I escort you back, Miss Hale? I don’t want you walking alone.”

“I need to go to the carpenter. Mary, I will call again tomorrow. Nicholas, it was good to see you again. Goodbye children.” Margaret called to the various children, who were now crowded on the bed as the eldest boy began to read to them.

“Goodbye Miss.” The various children muttered.

Margaret left the house, John following behind her. He took her arm in his. Margaret looked around, worried who might see them. 

“I would not like you to walk alone here.” John told her, looking around. 

“I am quite safe, John. I have walked these streets countless times, they know me here. I am in no danger.”

“Still. I know it must be unsettled in these parts, so many of my workers live here. I shall be glad to be able to employ them all again. I did not like the thought of so many being without work. The other mills had no room to take them, I tried to make arrangements before I closed.”

“Mary said things have not been easy, but many saw the closure coming and managed to set a little aside.”

“I came here to ask Higgins to inform all the men he knew would work for me again that they are to be at the mill first thing on Monday morning. I still have much to do but I decided what good is sitting in my office sending orders for cotton if I did not know if I’d have the workforce to make them. I will send word out in other ways of course, but you know Higgins. He’s the lifeblood of that union, he’ll bring them all back in.”

“I was very surprised to see you there. I had not intended to visit Nicholas, I was on my way to the carpenter to see about tables for the school room. I ran into Mary. Oh, and Mr Latimer.”

“Oh. Did you tell him-”

“No, no I didn’t. I wasn’t sure of -” Margaret stopped herself. “No, it does not matter now.”

“My relationship with his daughter, Anne.” John said. “That is what you were not sure of.”

“We don’t need to discuss it.” Margaret said in a small voice. “It does not matter now.”

Margaret could not bare to hear if anything had passed between John and Anne. At the time, it had bothered her a little, especially as she came to realise her feelings for him may have been changing. She wanted to focus on the future they were going to share, not dwell on any past romances that had, after all, come to nothing.

“It was to make you jealous.” He said bluntly, his voice low so only she could hear him. “It was the wrong thing to do. For a while, I thought perhaps if I could just move on, I could learn to forget my feelings for you. If anything, whenever I spent any time with her I found myself longing for you even more.”

Margaret’s eyes widened at that. It seemed such a strange thing for him to do; she had thought, once or twice, that he was trying to invoke in her a reaction, but she had believed that he was too honourable to do such a thing. He had confirmed all her suspicions. She felt anger rise in her.

“That was a small thing to do.” Margaret said, her throat tightening with upset as she spoke. “And cruel. How unfair to use her like that to get to me.”

“Yes, I know it is not right. I have not seen Anne for many months. I believe she is as good as engaged to a man from Lancashire. She did not care for me Margaret, not really. Perhaps she told herself that she did but she is better off with a different kind of man.”

“It did not work.” Margaret said, unhooking her arm from his. “I was not jealous. I certainly think a little less of you now. I did not think you capable of behaving in such a primitive manner.”

“Margaret, I’m sorry. I was a fool.”

Magaret looked up and saw that they had reached their destination. She was relieved; she was not sure how the conversation would end, and this gave her an escape while she thought about what he had told her.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr Thornton, I must speak with the carpenter. I will see you at dinner.”

Margaret nodded goodbye at him and walked into the carpenter’s workshop. It was noisy as the old man hammered in a chair leg. She turned her head and caught sight of Mr Thornton staring after her, standing in the same place. She ignored him, coughing lightly to gain the carpenter’s attention.

“Oh, sorry Miss, didn’t see you there.”

“Hello, I was wondering if you would be able to help me. My name is Margaret Hale. I’m hoping to start a school room and I need two tables long enough to seat at least twenty on each side.”

“That should be easy enough. Chairs or benches to go with them?”

“Benches, please.”

“I’ll have a look at my wood stock and send a price over with one of my lads. Would that be agreeable?”

“Yes, that is most kind of you. Please send him to Marlborough Mills, and instruct him to only speak to Miss Hale.”

“Of course, Miss. I’ll try and have it to you by sundown.”

“Thank you very much.”

Margaret left, surprised by how quickly the exchange had occurred. She exited the shop to find John staunchly waiting for her.

“You did not need to wait for me.” She walked on ahead of him. She could hear his footsteps increasing in speed as he tried to keep up with her.

“I told you, I’m walking you home. Is a man not allowed to walk his fiancée home?” He asked. He became level with her, and took her arm once again.

Margaret stopped. She did not believe in petty jealousies; she was not going to behave like a madwoman in the street, making a man chase her. She stared him in the eye, her shoulders straight and her face straight too.

“Of course he is. I am just a little cross at you.”

“Rightly so. I was an ass.”

Margaret had never heard him use coarse language before, and she raised an eyebrow at his conduct. He shrugged apologetically, rubbing his temple.

“I am sorry, my love. I am tired and I am out of line.”

“I suppose we will have many disagreements over the course of our marriage. I just did not expect the first to come so soon after our engagement.” Margaret said sadly.

“We’ve had many disagreements already, I was hoping they’d come to an end.” John told her. “Come, let us go home.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret clears the air with her future sister and mother in law. John is feeling unsteady. Margaret has a realisation.

Margaret spent the rest of the day in her room, writing down her ideas for the school room and planning the lessons she would give. She would need to do a little more research into modern schooling but she knew enough to be getting on with. It would be a challenge but one she was looking forward to. When she finished her notes, she sat at the desk, gazing numbly at the wallpaper as she took a break from her thoughts of education. The daylight had long since gone, leaving the room dark and cold. It was finally sinking in that this was her life now, that this place was her home. It did not feel like home; the corridors were still unfamiliar, the rooms cold and unwelcoming. It was a strange thing indeed to live in her future husband's home when she was not his wife. She could hear Mrs Thornton rattling around in the rooms beneath her, yet Margaret did not want to join her.

She thought again about John's words, that he had gone out of his way to try and make her jealous. She wondered then if she had ever truly understood the depth of his feelings for her; such a level headed man must truly have been desperate to behave in such a way. She thought of Anne - she had looked at him so tenderly.

It was a cruel way to treat a woman.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Margaret jerked out of her melancholy thoughts, pushing back the chair and rushing to answer the door.

"John! What are you doing here, your mother won't like it." Margaret peered down the corridor, expecting to see Mrs Thornton appear like an angry ghost at any moment.

John chuckled.

"It is hardly the middle of the night, Margaret. I've been sent by my mother, in fact, to tell you dinner will be in half an hour."

"Thank you. I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I thought you'd still be working."

"I'll eat and then work into the night. There is much to do, I feel like I'll never be finished. I hope you don't mind that I won't be around much."

"Of course not."

Margaret went to close the door to get ready for dinner - though she did not have anything to change into or even many pins left to fix her hair. As she pushed the door shut, John put his foot in the doorway, blocking the door from closing.

"You are still angry with me."

"A little." Margaret admitted. "I am sorry for it, but I cannot help how I feel. It has made me look at you differently. I did not believe you that sort of a person. I thought - I believed that you had feelings for Miss Latimer and I would have made my peace with that. To know it was all to make me jealous makes me feel - well, I don't know what."

"I am truly sorry that I behaved in such a way. Miss Latimer - she didn't deserve it. She was kind to me. I was too caught up in myself to see that I could harm her reputation with no intent of marrying her."

"You truly didn't consider marrying her? She is a very pretty woman, with impeccable manners." Margaret said, thinking of all the times she had seen the pair together. She had to admit that they did look suitable together.

"My mother wanted me to. Time dragged on and I wondered if I should give in and ask her but something was stopping me. It was then I realised if I couldn't be married to you, I would never marry." John told her.

Margaret was surprised by this. When he had proposed to her, she did not share his feelings but she did not wish him ill in any way at all. She hoped for his happiness as she would for anyone. To think that he would have lived his life

"I had started to think I would take the same path." Margaret admitted.

She thought of all the times she had caught Henry looking at her. She knew he would marry her in a heartbeat, and that he would eventually ask her again. She had been dreading that; she did not have any feelings for him beyond friendship but she knew to turn him down again would be a very difficult situation. She was not sure he had any real affection for her; she always thought he saw her as a prize to be won, rather than a person he wished to spend his life with.

"You're much younger than me." He said with a fond smile. "You would have found someone eventually. Besides, with my finances the way they were I doubt there was anybody who would have me."

"An old man of nearly thirty." Margaret raised a hand to touch his cheek and John closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "Do not speak like that about yourself, John. As long as you are sure in your decision to marry now."

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Margaret. I would marry you tomorrow, I would marry you right here."

He leaned closer to her, pressing his lips to hers. She kissed him back, feeling as though they were back at that station, just for one moment, without a care in the world. She pulled back, though their faces stayed as closely together as though their lips still touched.

"You wanted to wait until October." She whispered against his lips.

John's hands were on her waist, pulling her even closer. She did not make a sound, knowing that the slightest commotion would send Mrs Thornton running their way to make sure all was as it should be. Her breath quickened, the feeling of being so close to him once again making her feel weak.

He leaned to speak into her ear, his low voice husky as he murmured to her.

"Yes, it seemed the sensible thing to do. Yet, I can't- I just.." His words were confused, as though he could not straighten his own feelings in his mind. "Having you here in my house, knowing that you are so close yet I cannot have you-"

"John!" Margaret felt her cheeks flame, the heat spreading down her neck and across her chest. She marvelled at how easily John could stir her emotions with words that were so foreign to her. She knew little of the way the male body worked, but her mother had warned her in hushed tones of the dangers of desire.

Margaret had never seen desire, but looking in John's eyes, she knew she had found it.

John broke away from her, moving so far away from the door that he bumped into the wall behind him. Margaret laughed; it was rather amusing to see a man so careful in everything he did come undone.

"I am sorry, I don't know what's come over me. October, October is the sensible thing."

"It will fly by, I am sure." Margaret told him with a smile.

The mood had changed; it was as though he was scared to stand too close to her. Margaret looked at the floor, willing him to speak.

"One can only hope. Do you need a candle? Or oil for the lamp?"

"Oh, no, I have those things. I was just thinking and I did not realise that the sun had set."

"What were you thinking about?"

"You. Anne Latimer. Frederick, Aunt Shaw, the school room, the mill - I'm not sure there is much I didn't think about. I feel a little unsettled at all the sudden changes happening in my life. I thought I would be fine but I find myself unsure and I do not know why."

"Things have changed, you're right there. Give it a few weeks, love. Anything I can do to make you more comfortable, I will do it."

Margaret shook her head, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. He closed his hand around her, his thumb stroking her knuckles as he always did when he took her hand. She appreciated the simple movement; it was oddly intimate and she found it was of great comfort to her.

"Once I have my clothes and my things, I will feel much happier. We need to agree on when to go to London."

"The day after tomorrow will be fine, my letters should have arrived to the people I need to see by then. If they haven't, my turning up will be a surprise to them. I'm sure they've all written me off."

"Have you made much progress on the reopening of the mill?"

"As much as I can for now. I've written letters to every one of my former customers, telling them we will be resuming trade as soon as possible. I have written to the suppliers asking for a small first order to be going on with. Tonight I'll go through the list of names Higgins gave me on closing day, and decide how many men I'll need at first. I can't take them all back at once, I've realised that that was a little overambitious. I've inspected as many machines as I could manage before the light went. I'm sure you remember I do not allow flames on the mill floor."

"Yes, I do. It sounds like you have been most productive, Mr Thornton."

"John." John groaned, hating when she used his formal title when there was nobody else to hear it. "Call me John."

"Mr Thornton."

"Margaret, don't tease me."

"I am not teasing you. I am merely exhibiting a little restraint." Margaret told him, though the smile that crept on to her lips indicated that she really was teasing him. He bowed his head to her, mirroring her smile.

"I am sorry if I have offended you, Miss Hale."

"You do not offend me." Margaret admitted in a small voice, turning serious now. She looked him dead in the eyes, trying to put into words what it was that she felt. "I just do not know how to proceed when you speak to me like that. I don't know what to do, what to say."

"I'm sorry, I do not want you to feel uncomfortable. I have never said these sort of things before, I don't know why but I cannot keep myself under control when I am around you. It is wrong, and I will not speak to you like that, not while we are unmarried."

He kissed her on the cheek, chaste in his intentions. She held his hand, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Thank you John."

"I'll see you downstairs when you are ready."

Margaret closed the door, taking a deep breath. She felt dizzy again, her stomach a mass of butterflies. John did something to her, made her feel something she didn't quite understand.

It was delicious.

Margaret walked into the drawing room and was surprised to see Fanny and her husband sitting talking to John and Mrs Thornton.

John and Mr Watson rose when Margaret entered, and she nodded at them, walking over to join them.

"I'm sorry, I did not realise you were both coming for dinner. How nice to see you."

"I have brought you one or two of my old dresses." Fanny told her, looking Margaret up and down pointedly. "I'm sorry I was not here in time for you to change. I have brought some hair pins and a brush as well, as I saw this morning that you had desperate need of them."

"Thank you very much, that is most kind of you." Margaret smiled, ignoring the barbed comment. "Mr Watson, it is nice to see you again."

He inclined his head to her, holding out his hand. She shook it, then in turn offering her hand to Fanny. She did not offer her hand to John.

"And you my dear. When Fanny told me you were back, I was most surprised. Particularly because I understand wedding bells are ringing for the pair of you." Watson said with a wide smile as they sat. "I didn't think I'd see the day, Thornton."

"Aye, but not for a few months yet." John told him, looking at Margaret, who had remained standing. His eyes flicked to the space beside him, and Margaret took this as a sign he wished for her to go and sit next to him.

"Living under the same roof but not married? A strange move, Thornton."

Margaret looked down, unsure of what to say. She did not know Watson well, and was unsure of his temperament. He had seemed jolly enough the few times she had seen him - and she doubted that anyone too serious or dour could stand to be married to Fanny.

"Is it?" John shrugged. He changed the subject. "I'm sure Fanny has told you by now, but my mill will be reopening."

"Aye, she did. I was glad to hear of it, very glad indeed. I did not like to see you and your mother struggle."

"Yes, well. Things are looking up. Hard work and more struggle lie ahead but we will come through it just as we have done before."

"You always land on your feet, Thornton."

"That implies luck. I don't think it is luck that has given John anything. Determination is the reason, coupled with hard work and sacrifice. I have every faith in him that he will work just as hard as he always has." Mrs Thornton interjected, always the first to defend her son.

Margaret turned her head to see Mrs Thornton standing at the door, arms folded. At first Mrs Thornton's constant need to watch over her son, to make sure everyone knew the strength of his character irritated her. Mothers always idolised their sons, believing they could do no wrong. But as the months and years had passed, Margaret had seen how John's mother had been a constant support to him, willing to make any sacrifice to make sure her son was alright. It was similar to the love her own mother had for Frederick; there was no crisis too terrible that the love could not endure.

"Of course, my apologies for the implication. Lovely to see you, Hannah."

As the evening progressed, Margaret wondered what Mrs Thornton truly made of her son-in-law. He was a man closer to Mrs Thornton's own age than Fanny's. His hair was greying, his body one of a man who ate too much and moved too little. He spoke too loudly and drank too much. Fanny glanced at him occasionally, but Margaret could not quite understand that either. Was there love between them? She wondered. Margaret knew there must be some kind of fondness there (or hoped at least, for Fanny's sake), but love did not seem to be the appropriate word.

She could feel John's eyes on her constantly. He sat at the head of the table, Margaret on his left side. She felt eyes on her too from the other end of the table, where Mrs Thornton sat observing everyone as she always did. The conversation over dinner was not particularly thrilling, talk mainly being taken up with the intricacies of trade and production. Margaret listened, but her thoughts drifted to the setting up of the school room and all that had to be done in order to prepare it.

She felt very tired once more, though she did not usually tire so easily. She supposed she had slept poorly ever since her father died, the effects of never getting proper rest catching up to her.

She felt her eyes drooping and she sat straighter in her chair, determined not to embarrass herself at this first proper gathering of the people that would become her family. She was relieved when John stood up and announced he would be going back to work for the rest of the evening. Watson followed him, though John did not look entirely pleased about that. The women were left alone in the room.

"Well." Mrs Thornton said after a while. "I suppose this will be our new arrangement. The three of us left alone after dinner."

"I will not always be here." Fanny pointed out. "Most evenings I will be at my home. Miss Hale, will you come for tea tomorrow with Mother? I should like to show you my new curtains."

"Yes, that would be lovely. The day after tomorrow I must go back to London to collect my things."

"Is John going with you?" Mrs Thornton asked.

"Yes, he is. He has business there, otherwise I would have travelled alone."

"I don't think it's right, Mother." Fanny said conspiratorially, glancing at Margaret as she leaned closer to her mother. "Alone on a train together before they are married."

"Are you implying your brother would do anything dishonorable?" Mrs Thornton asked. "If he has decided it is for the best, then it is. However, and I will say this plain to John as well Miss Hale, do not make yourself vulnerable to gossip."

"Again." Fanny muttered, though Margaret heard her perfectly.

"I am aware there was once a rumour that I was seen embracing a man, Mrs Watson. I feel that now we are to be family I must tell you both that that man was my brother, Frederick Hale. I hope that you will not repeat that to anybody, as he was involved in some legal trouble which is why we had to be secretive about his visit. He came from Spain to visit Mother while she was dying, but he is safe there again. I am telling you because I do not want you to think the worst of me when there is no cause to."

"You mentioned your brother yesterday, I did not realise that it was him you were seen with. Why did you not tell me when I came to speak to you? Your reputation was at risk and you allowed the rumours to continue. It seems a careless way to behave."

"I could not tell you, Mrs Thornton. The danger was too great, Fred was still in England and the navy are still looking for him. He was involved in a rebellion at sea. It was for the good of the crew, the captain - oh, I can't go into this again. That is the truth of the matter; the man I was with was my brother."

"Why did you not say anything about this before?" Fanny asked, narrowing her eyes. "This all sounds very convenient."

Margaret bristled at the implied accusation that she was inventing a brother to save her reputation. She kept her voice level, not wanting Fanny to know that her words had stung her.

"I can assure you it is the truth. My mother needed to see him before she died and we did all we could to protect him. I hope now I have clarified the situation we do not need to talk about it again."

"Does John know?" Fanny asked.

"Yes, he does. I was wondering, Mrs Watson-"

"You may call me Fanny while we are alone. If you wish to." Fanny said a little stiffly.

"Fanny, if you had any thoughts about the wedding. I do not know where to start!" Margaret laughed lightly, trying to move the conversation away from the unhappy business of what happened that night she had been seen with Fred at the station.

"You mentioned earlier today that it was to be in October. Are you sure? It really is such a dreadfully dreary month. June or July would be much nicer."

"Jo-Mr Thornton suggested October, so if that is what he wishes I will agree with him. It is to allow enough time for the mill to reopen." Margaret explained. "That will take some time and I'm sure Mr Thornton will dedicate himself to that completely."

"There is no doubting that, Miss Hale." Mrs Thornton said.

Her pride in her son's work ethic was absolute and unbreakable. Margaret nodded in agreement. John valued his mother's unwavering support greatly, and although Mrs Thornton's boastful words about her son had irritated Margaret at first, she was beginning to understand.

John was indeed a remarkable man; a man that treated women with respect and interest in what they had to say for a start. He had always listened to her, taken her thoughts into account. He was different to most men, a world apart from men like Henry and Watson. Margaret had no doubt that this stemmed from the respect he held for his mother.

"It just seems an awfully long time to wait." Fanny complained, drawing Margaret out of her thoughts.

"You were engaged for around six months, Fanny." Mrs Thornton pointed out. "Long engagements are nothing new."

"Yes, I suppose I was. October it is then. Out of interest are you to live here until the wedding?"

"Things have moved so quickly I haven't had much time to think."

"John wants her to stay, Fanny." Mrs Thornton said, standing up. "I'm moving to nearer the lamp, I have some embroidery to finish."

Margaret and Fanny followed her, though Fanny glanced wistfully at the piano. Margaret hoped she would not play; she had heard her play once before and that was certainly once too often. They sat down, Mrs Thornton reaching for her sewing box stored near the settee. Margaert watched as she skilfully stitched the small hankerchief. Her own hands felt empty and restless. She had been doing some needlework in London, and was looking forward to resuming it again.

"I hope John and Watson don't take too long. I am so tired lately." Fanny yawned. "I want to go home."

"Are you getting enough air? I don't mean walking between the drapers and the music shop."

"Thank you Mother, I am quite well. I am just tired." Fanny said irritably, shifting in her seat. "You know how John can go on so. They could be hours yet."

"John has a lot to do, he needs to get on. If they are longer than fifteen minutes, I will go and get Watson for you since you seem to be too cowardly to do so. I just want to finish this, I have been trying to do so for months yet there has been no time to be idle."

Margaret did not say anything. She noticed John had left a book on the small table near his chair, so she reached for it and began to read. And so, the three women who would soon be family sat in silence, consumed by their own thoughts. Watson returned eventually to take Fanny, yawning widely, home. Mrs Thornton made her excuses shortly after, and Margaret was alone. She sat there for hours until the fire died, just reading. Her mind was quiet, and she enjoyed the silence.

Margaret wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders, prising the front door open as quietly as she could. It was late, almost midnight, but she could see the light coming from John's office. She wanted to speak to him without prying ears.

She edged out of the door, closing it softly behind her. She nipped along the courtyard, opening the mill door and slipping inside. Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She felt a fool trying to avoid Hannah Thornton, but she knew that the woman's opinion of her was fragile and she did not want to fracture their relationship before the marriage had even taken place.

"John?" Margaret called out.

The mill floor was in complete darkness and she could hardly make out her own hand in front of her face.

"Margaret? What are you doing here?"

"I need to speak with you, but I am afraid I cannot see a single thing!"

John appeared in the doorway of his office, opening the door so her path was illuminated at least a little. He was only in his shirt, having removed his waistcoat and jacket. He looked thoroughly dishevelled, his dark hair sticking up at all angles. She walked quickly to him, the shadows of the machines looming over her in the darkness. She did not go into his office, and instead sat down at the top of the small staircase that lead to the room.

"What's wrong?" John said, the light coming from his office only half illuminating him, leaving the rest in shadow. He sat down beside her. "You'll get all dusty sitting there. What's the matter?"

"Nothing's wrong. It's just - I've made a decision. I am going to move from your house. There's a small house nearby that Mr Bell owns, well I own it now I suppose. I believe it is empty. Mr Watson was right, it isn't proper."

"You're not going."

"I'm sorry John but I think I must! We have been living in our own little world, thinking only of our love. People will talk, they will think - they will think we are living in sin. If my mother were here she would surely die of shame if anyone thought that of us."

"We know there is nothing of that nature going on." John said soothingly. "You need to stop caring what others think. I know I did long ago and I've been all the better for it."

"It is easy for men. I'm sure plenty will be patting you on the back and congratulating you. Women are not so forgiving of another woman's indiscretion. What if someone from Milton saw us on the station platform? To show such affection in public - I do not know what came over us, truly."

John draped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her to lean against him. He pressed a kiss to her hair, keeping his lips there and speaking into the top of her head. His words were muffled, and Margaret tried not to laugh.

"I love you Margaret and I feel passionately towards you. I do not care who sees us; I will love you and protect you as long as we both live."

She moved away, not wanting to obscure his words. She looked at him in the darkness, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek all by itself. His skin was warm, his cheeks stubbly beneath her skin.

"I think part of protecting me is to let me go, John. I will stay close and visit often. Of course I couldn't receive you at the house alone but-"

"Margaret, please. I have pledged my heart to you. We are waiting months before our wedding already-"

"That was your decision." Margaret reminded him.

"Fine, that was my decision. I am a fool; it is so long to wait, and I have waited so long already. I need you here with me. I will not come to your room anymore, I will not even see you without my mother present. I will sleep in the rooms where I kept the Irish, I don't care. I need you close, I want you to stay here where I know you are safe."

"John, think rationally. If your own brother in law made a comment about it, what will the rest of Milton think? No, it is best that I find somewhere else to live. Once I have my things and Dixon has returned or I have found a ladies maid, it will be quite comfortable. I will visit you every day, I promise. I am in no danger."

"I suppose." John conceded. "Perhaps we should marry sooner. Just have the banns read and be married, not the bother of a ceremony."

"What would your mother think of that?" Margaret asked with a smile.

"My mother would be fine, you know she does not care for frivolity."

"I too don't feel the need for a large wedding, but I would like to stand before God and say our vows. I am sure your mother would like that, and Fanny would appreciate the excuse for a new dress. She told me she is thinking of wearing lilac."

"I wonder why I said October." John said. "It is so far away - I suppose I wanted to give you enough time to change your mind."

"Change my mind? I think it is a little too late for any of that. I will go and look at the house tomorrow, if I can locate the keys, to make sure it is ready. Then the day after that we will go to London. I am desperate for another dress. The ones Fanny lent me are a little different to what I usually wear and rather more - ornate."

"She dresses like a china doll." John said with a wry smile. "She's got all the brains of one too."

"Don't be unkind." Margaret tried not to laugh. "There are so many petticoats that I could scarcely see where they ended. I will need several people just to lace me into it, I will look most silly."

"How would you feel if we brought the wedding forward?" John said suddenly, taking her hands in his. He had become so urgent so quickly. He did not seem his usual self, Margaret thought; perhaps he had been thinking too much. He was always so serious, so careful with his words that Margaret wondered what his mind was like, if the way he behaved was merely covering chaos beneath. Was it a wild jumble of thoughts that he struggled to keep in order? Could a man really be so deliberate in all that he did? Margaret smiled; that was surely unlikely. John's mind was a powerful machine, just like the ones that surrounded them.

"We have yet to arrange so much as a flower petal so I think it would be a fine idea. When?"

"Now?"

"Be serious."

"June. July, maybe. If we wait just until the mill opens then I'll know for sure. October is five, almost six months away, I don't know what I was thinking. I want to be your husband."

"July." Margaret said with a smile, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "If all goes well."

"Pray that it does. That we might have a life together that is prosperous, not of one failure after another."

"Hush. You are tired, it is very late. I may not be your wife yet but I am ordering you to go to your bed."

"You will be a tough mistress." He pressed a kiss to her lips, one hand tangling itself in her hair as he cradled her close to him. "I love you."

"I love you."

A/N: I wrote this over a few nights, staying up late. When I edited it every time I found ridiculous errors (at one point I gave Margaret something like six hands) so sorry if you spot anything. I get weirdly nervous posting updates to this story, I'm so worried I'm getting it all wrong. Updates will probably start to slow as I've used up everything I've written so far and I like to be at least halfway through a chapter before I post the next one but this chapter is quite hefty so I thought I'd just get it posted. I am enjoying writing it so much and I hope that comes across. Thank you for every review, and I promise the story won't be a day by day account until they get married or it would be 40 chapters before they've even stepped foot in a church! Thanks for reading my life story in this author's note..!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds himself thinking of his father. Margaret begins work on the school room, and an unexpected visitor arrives.

A/N: Trigger warning for mentions of suicide and depression (non graphic but implied) at the start of this chapter.

John escorted Margaret as far as her bedroom door, taking care to avoid the creaky floorboards that he knew peppered the landing. His mother slept lightly, she always had done. He was half dressed, his waistcoat and jacket lying forgotten on his chair. Margaret's hair was loose and they both had bits of cotton fluff stuck to them. It did not look good, he knew, though nothing sordid had occurred.

He did not try and kiss her goodnight, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. It took every ounce of his considerable self control not to, but he had promised to restrain his passions until such a time when it would be more appropriate. She squeezed his hand, whispering goodnight, and he turned and walked away while the door was still open.

John walked alone to his room, not needing a light to guide him. He knew this house like the back of his hand, where to step, where to turn. He felt a great sense of relief that the house would stay his home. He remembered the pain of leaving everything familiar when his father died, of losing any anchor he had. He was removed from school, sent to work for the draper, it all happened so quickly.

He undressed and got ready for bed, still thinking of his childhood. He could not shake the terrible burden of knowing that he had failed just like his father. His feelings for his father were muddy, confused even in his own mind. He tried to remember the man his father had been, but those memories turned bitter once John thought of all the hardships their family had faced.

He understood now. He understood how hopeless his father must have felt when his debts stacked up, his speculations failed. As though he were drowning with no hope of surfacing. He had been so angry for so long at his father's selfishness but he had never truly realised the crushing burden of failing your family.

John shook his head; these dark thoughts came to him at night and there was little he could do to send them away. He slipped beneath the blankets, closing his eyes and willing sleep to come.

He heard the clock chime half past midnight, then quarter to one, then one. The time passed quickly, each chime taunting him that he would get no rest tonight. He sat up, surrendering to the insomnia. He reached for the matches he kept next to the bed and lit the wick of the oil lamp that sat beside him. As he adjusted it, the room was bathed in a golden light, chasing away the cold and unwelcoming darkness. It was strangely comforting to watch the shadow of the flame dance on the wall.

He had a small bookcase in his room, in addition to the larger one in the drawing room. This was where he kept books he was currently reading, or business matters that needed to be attended to when he was too tired to sit in a chair. He stretched out of bed and pulled out a well worn tome that he had read many times.

Plato.

He opened it at the first page, smiling as he read the now-familiar writing that claimed the book in the name "Richard Hale". He never tired of this book, and he never forgot the special friendship he had shared with Margaret's father. His death still stung John. Sometimes he had spent hours just holding this book, trying to think of what Mr Hale would tell him to do. His advice may not have come from practical knowledge of trade or business, but it came from his heart and a desire to do right by his fellow man and John admired that. It was a quality that Margaret shared, one of the countless reasons he adored her.

John sat reading, his thoughts and worries gradually melting away as he focused. His breathing slowed, though he hadn't realised it was fast before. As he read, he felt his eyes grow heavy.

Then, he slept.

"Good morning, Mother."

John was unsurprised to see his mother already seated at the table. She had always been an early riser, and had brought him up to be the same. Fanny could sleep for the entire morning if you let her, much to his mother's irritation.

There was no sign of Margaret, though a place was set for her. The newspaper was sitting at John's place, and he sat down and unfolded it.

"Miss Hale has already left." His mother told him as one of the servants poured him a cup of tea. Mrs Thornton observered him as she drank hers, watching his face carefully.

"I did not hear her leave." John said in surprise. "What time did she go?"

"She left in an awful hurry about half an hour ago. She would not take breakfast. Where on Earth was she going in such a rush?"

"She's decided that she won't stay here." John replied irritably, Margaret's decision the night before still aggravating him. "She'll have gone to Bell's lawyer here, to collect the keys to his property. And I suppose to arrange the loan, I haven't asked her who is sorting that. I suppose I should raise that."

Mrs Thornton rose from her seat, moving to the vacant one next to John. She lowered his paper, taking his hand and looking him dead in the eyes.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, John? We haven't been able to speak frankly since you brought her home, but I need to make sure you know what you're doing."

"In what way?" John asked, turning the paper to the financial section.

"In every way. Marrying her, accepting her loan. It is a significant amount of money to be lent by someone who has no knowledge of business."

He lowered the paper, indignant this his mother would mention the financial agreement and the marriage proposal in the same sentence, as though they were intertwined.

"How else do you propose we stay here, if not for Miss Hale? The bank had refused all further help, I did not see a line of investors queuing outside the door. If I am to continue in trade, I need that money."

"And the marriage?"

"Has nothing to do with the money. You know I proposed to her over a year ago."

"I know, and I saw how you struggled with her rejection. This is why it is all so sudden, though I could see in your face you still cared for her when she came to say goodbye to us in the winter. I thought you would never look cheerful again, though I suppose we Thorntons aren't known for our happy dispositions. I am pleased for you, I truly am. I can see the difference in your face already. Did you sleep last night?"

"Eventually. Mother, will you try and be kind to Margaret?"

"Have I been unkind?" His mother demanded.

"No, I just-"

"She is welcome in this house and I will support your marriage, as long as you have asked her with honesty and without agenda. I am sure you are not capable of entering a marriage half heartedly, so I am sure this is genuine. I do not know what else I can do to show you that I am accepting of this whole arrangement, however sudden it was."

"I know, I'm sorry. I am just anxious that she feels at home here after we marry. That you do not feel unwelcome, too. You know that you always have a place with me, don't you Mother?"

His mother nodded, and she looked as though she might cry. John had only seen her cry once in his entire life, after the death of his father. Other than that, she had kept her emotions tightly locked inside - and encouraged her son to do the same. She did not approve of women who were slaves to their emotions. John often wondered how she had ended up with a daughter like Fanny.

"I raised a fine young man, I could not be prouder of you, Son."

"I do not feel there is much to be proud of, in all honesty." John said with a small chuckle. He began to read the newspaper, lowering it as he could feel his mother's eyes burning into him. He was right; she fixed him with a steely glare.

"Don't. Don't doubt yourself like that. We will get through this time just like all the others. You are a strong man, John. Miss Hale has found herself a rare specimen of husband, I can assure you."

"I wouldn't be anything without you. I hope you know - I hope you know I still value everything you do for this family, and you are not being replaced. I need you still. I will always need you."

"I know." She stood up and kissed the top of his head fondly, just as she used to do when he was a boy. "Fanny has asked that I go to visit her this morning, before Miss Hale goes this afternoon. No doubt she needs my opinion on what sandwiches to serve."

"How has Fanny taken all this?" John asked. "I know she was never Miss Hale's greatest admirer."

"She is so distracted by running her own household that I think she's forgotten she ever disliked her in the first place. Miss Hale is asking her for help with planning the wedding which has pleased her."

"Not me. She'll have Margaret in a frilly pink monstrosity."

"I'll keep an eye on her, don't worry." Mrs Thornton smiled. She ran her hand over his dark hair with a smile. "Eat something John. You've lost weight, you don't look yourself."

"I will. I'm fine Mother, there's just a lot to do and think about. I've been distracted of late, but I am focused now. I've much to be getting on with today."

"And it can be done after you've eaten a good meal."

"Yes, Mother."

Later, John went around the mill floor making repairs on any machines that needed it. He had learned how to maintain the machines almost as soon as he had opened the mill, knowing that a Master who did not understand the mechanics of his own trade could never truly prosper. He found it relaxed him, working with his hands. It gave him something to focus on, and he found that he could empathise a little more with his workers. That way he could never be accused of being a high and mighty Master with little knowledge of what his workers were put through.

He lay beneath the large spinning machine, tightening bolts and replacing any that looked too loose to be used. Broken machines were harder to fix once the mill was working, and that was how accidents happened. He did not want to put his workers at risk, and he did not want to lose time and money constantly fixing poorly maintained equipment.

"John?"

"I'm under here." He called out. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just wanted to come and see you to tell about my meeting with Mr Bell's lawyer. I can leave you to finish if you wish." Margaret called across the factory floor.

"Actually could you hand me the wrench? I need to keep hold of something and I can't reach." John hollered back to her, not knowing how far away she was.

"Of course."

He listened as the sound of her footsteps grew nearer, until he could see the hem of her skirt. She knelt down to peer at him, a smile on her face. She sat on the floor beside him, not caring about dirtying her dress. She handed him the tool he had asked for, and he murmured his thanks.

"So, what did the lawyer say?" He asked as he tightened the bolt.

"He gave me the keys for the empty house I went to enquire after, and told me he had five other sets in his possession. Five! All currently have tenants, save the one I told you about yesterday. I must confess I feel a little overwhelmed by all this responsibility."

"Bell had people to look after everything, I'm sure he's set it up so you don't need to trouble yourself. I knew he had a portfolio but not much about it. It was none of my concern."

"I went to look at my new house." Margaret continued. "It is nearby, as I thought it was. Only a few minutes walk, hardly any time at all."

John thought to himself that she would not be close enough to him until they shared a bed. He pushed that thought out of his mind.

"Is it nice?"

"It is nice enough. A little damp and drafty, but it will do for a short time. It is furnished, thankfully, so I will not have to go through all the worry of finding furniture."

"I don't like the idea of you being alone at night without a man." John told her, staring at the metal work above him as he bashed at the part he needed to fix.

"Come, John. It is not unheard of for a woman to live alone."

"Aye, an old widow maybe. Not an unmarried lady with a fiancé just around the corner. You should stay with us."

"It will be fine. Dixon will be with me, I hope, and not even the fiercest burglar would tangle with her."

"Hmm. Pass me that spanner will you?"

She handed it to him without a word. He continued his work in silence.

"It will be fine." Margaret said eventually.

"I hope so. I'm busy, Margaret, was there anything else?"

He winced at his tone as soon as he'd finished speaking. He'd been too sharp with her. If he had offended her, he could not tell as she sounded the same as she always did when she replied.

"Yes, I've been to visit the boy's school to speak with their headmaster. He was not very helpful, in all honesty, but he has given me the name of the supplier of their school materials. I will write to them and order all that I need from them."

"Good, I'm glad you've found all you need to make the arrangements."

He looked up at the workings of the machine, checking they were all as they should be. When he was satisfied, he shuffled out from under the machine and stood up, brushing himself down.

Margaret stood up too, helping him brush the grime and cotton off his shirt. As she did so, she moved closer to him, resting her face against a clean patch of his shirt. He wiped his hand on the leg of his trousers, making sure it was clean before resting it against her head, holding her closer to him.

"I hope you're not angry with me."

"Never." He pressed a kiss into her hair.

"This is the right thing to do." Margaret mumbled into his chest.

"Aye, I've said I understand. I know why you're doing it, it just irritates me that we have to consider what every Tom Dick and Harry's going to think of us. Why their opinions come before what we want."

"I will miss you." Margaret told him, her hand curling round the opening of his shirt. Her knuckles brushed the bare skin beneath, and he gasped at the feel of her cool hand against his chest. To his surprise, she did not move her hand, instead moving further and flattening her palm above his heart. It was a bold move.

"I'll miss you too. Can't we run away and leave all this? Go somewhere with no mills and no gossiping and no damned cotton."

Margaret laughed, stepping back and taking her hand out of his shirt. The look on her face told John she was not quite sure why she had done that, but he had no complaints. She looked down, her cheeks on fire as they always were when she showed any type of affection. She continued the conversation, her voice smaller now.

"You would get bored within an hour and demand to come back. You love this place John. It's in your bones, it's part of you."

"I do." He admitted. He ran one finger down the side of her face. "You look so beautiful."

"I am sure I do not!" Margaret protested with a laugh, the awkwardness that had settled between them vanishing as quickly as it had arrived. "It is dusty as anything out there and I have been sitting on the floor. I must look a fright!"

"I see you are not wearing the dress Fanny brought you."

"I tried but I just looked so silly I couldn't bring myself to step foot out of the door. Your mother's maid laced me in it and I could see she was trying not to laugh!"

"I'm sure you would have looked as fine as you always do, love. I must get on, I've got more to look at. I'm sure I heard a creaking coming from one of the spinning jennys."

"I too have work to do, may I have the key to the school room? I have purchased buckets and scrubbing brushes so will be cleaning and airing it today."

"You're doing it by yourself? You'll get filthy." John said, though he was in no state to talk. His back was covered in grease, he could feel it soaking through his shirt onto his skin.

"I am not afraid of hard work John. Your servants are busy and I enjoy a challenge. If you are so concerned, you can take a brush and help."

"I'm very busy." He said with a smile. "I'll come and give you a hand with whatever you might need when I've finished here."

"Thank you." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

She held her hand out expectantly for the key, which he fished for on the chain he kept on his belt. He unhooked it from the rest and handed it to her.

"You keep hold of that key, mind. I don't have a spare."

"I shall guard it with my life. I don't think I have ever had my own keys before. Someone else always kept hold of them. Now, I have the key to my own home and five others, and to a school room. It feels rather nice."

"Quite the independent young lady of means."

"Indeed and I have much to do, so excuse me. I shall see you later, take your time and do not worry about helping me if there are things to do here first.."

"Don't forget you've agreed to go to Fanny's house for tea this afternoon. Try not to be covered in cobwebs, Fanny will faint with shock at the sight of dirt, she's not used to it."

"Of course. I'll change into one of her dresses for it, if I can stand it."

Margaret walked over to the school room. The boy from the store where she had purchased all she would need to clean the dirty old place had delivered the items and left them outside. There were candles and matches, an apron, scrubbing brushes, water, carbolic soap, buckets a large piece of fabric for Margaret to kneel on and two new brooms.

Margaret had done little cleaning in her life, but she had felt the urge to clean this place with her own hands. She did not want to occupy Mrs Thornton's servants with a task that she had not yet discussed with the current lady of the house; in truth, she was worried what her future mother in law would think of the scheme.

She unlocked the room, finding it even dingier than the last time she had seen it. She took a deep breath, a smile on her face. She pushed open the other door, allowing the light from the courtyard to spill into the room.

Margaret wasn't quite sure where to start; she supposed filling the buckets hot water would be the best place to begin. She went off to fetch some, returning with two servants whose names she did not catch even when they had told her. They looked at the empty, filthy room with confused eyes, bobbing their heads to her and leaving her alone with five buckets of hot water and a seemingly endless challenge ahead of her.

She decided to start at the back of the room and work out. She dragged in a bucket of water and the sheet of fabric, laying them out in a shadowed corner. She could see well enough so did not light a candle. She opened the soap, the strong scent of tar hitting her. She began scrubbing at the dirty stone floor, pleased when after only a few seconds of scrubbing the layer of grime began to vanish. It would take time, but she had time.

An hour or two later, Margaret's arms ached and her back throbbed. However, her face glowed with pleasure as she observed the now spotless floor that stretched out before her. She felt a real sense of achievement; it was most unladylike, what she had just done, but she had done it alone.

She wiped sweat off her forehead, unknowingly leaving a great swipe of dirt along the skin in a straight line. Her hair had begun to fall from its previously neat bun, and Margaret felt so hot from her exertion that she might set on fire.

"Margaret?" A familiar voice called across the yard. "Margaret is that you?"

Margaret froze.

She turned slowly to see Aunt Shaw, trailed by Dixon, walking towards her with a face like thunder. Though it was a warm day, Aunt Shaw had her shawl wrapped tightly around her and was holding a handkerchief over her mouth as though the air were toxic.

"Aunt Shaw, what are you doing here?!" Margaret asked in shock. "I was going to come back to London tomorrow to collect my things. Did you get my letter?"

"No, no letter."

Then what are you doing here?"

"I think you know what I'm doing here. I've come to take you back to London and away from that man."

"Excuse me?"

"Margaret you have gone quite mad! Do you have any idea of how it appears to us?"

"I understand it must seem very sudden to you, Aunt. I can explain it all, it really isn't as complicated as it appears."

"I would be very interested to hear this explanation. I would particularly like to know why you are out here covered in filth like an urchin!"

"I have been cleaning out this room as I intend to turn it into a schoolroom for Mr Thornton's employees." Margaret informed her, brushing her hands clean on her apron.

"What kind of a man is this Mr Thornton to allow you to be in such a state? Surely there are servants for these tasks!"

"I chose to do this, Mr Thornton has had no say in the matter. Really Aunt, you speak as if I am doing some great immoral act! It was only a little cleaning!"

"Speaking of morals, where are you staying? I pray you are not living here alone with Mr Thornton Margaret, I could not stand it!"

"Mrs Thornton lives here too, as you know. I am moving to my own house imminently. How little you must think of me, Aunt, to believe that I would live alone with a man out of wedlock!"

"I don't believe I know you at all, Margaret Hale. I could never have imagined your recent behaviour, yet here we stand."

"I am sorry I did not return to London when expected." Margaret looked down at the ground, feeling shame burn in her chest at her Aunt's disappointment in her. "Did Henry tell you what happened?"

"He told us a little, but truth be told he was devastated by your callous actions. He is too honourable a man to show it, of course, but any person who knew him could see he was a broken man."

"I think you are being a little dramatic. I am not capable of breaking Mr Lennox's heart, he is too sensible for such emotions."

"He wished to marry you, you knew that."

"Yes, I did. However I do not think he wanted to marry me for who I am, but who he wanted me to be. I did not want the life I knew lay with Henry."

"And this life, this life of scrubbing and servitude suits you better?"

"Servitude?!" Margaret spluttered. "I have cleaned one room and suddenly I am a servant! Aunt, you know I am of means now. I could own, and do own, grand properties and live in luxury if I so wished. However I do not wish for that, I just want a life of happiness and honesty."

"Margaret what's all the noise?" John's deep, booming voice rang out across the yard, and Margaret looked over to the main mill door.

"Aunt, please be civil to him." Margaret hissed under her breath.

She had never spoken to her aunt like that before, and Mrs Shaw stood a little straighter, her eyes narrowing at her niece. Margaret cursed herself for showing a lack of respect to her aunt, who she was still greatly fond of.

Margaret walked away from Aunt Shaw and Dixon, walking quickly to meet John in the middle of the yard. Thankfully he had put his jacket back on, as well as his cravat though it was poorly and hastily tied.

"My aunt is here." She told him in a quiet voice. "She is as mad as a wet cat, where is your mother? We cannot let them meet for I fear I do not know what my aunt will say, she is in such poor temper!"

"Mother left this morning to visit Fanny, but she will be back soon. What are they both doing here?" John asked, nodding towards the women who were now unrelentingly staring at them both. "I thought we were to go to London tomorrow."

"Aunt Shaw is furious with me and has come to drag me back to London. Perhaps Dixon is here to restrain me, I don't know."

"Don't be ridiculous."

John walked past Margaret, striding over to where Dixon and Mrs Shaw stood.

Margaret watched, following behind him, as Aunt Shaw straightened herself. Her hands clasped themselves together tightly, her eyes looking Mr Thornton up and down. They had met before, but only fleetingly and Aunt Shaw did not have a particularly good opinion of him even from the brief time they had spent in the same room.

"Mrs Shaw." He nodded his head in greeting.

"Mr Thornton. I suppose you can explain this ludicrous situation to me?"

"What part don't you understand? That I proposed to your niece or that she is to live here in Milton?"

His sharp tone made Margaret wince, and Aunt Shaw did the same. Men did not speak to women in such a way in London, and Margaret willed John to be a little more delicate in his approach. She knew it was in vain to hope for such a thing; it was not in his character to be false in any way.

"I am worried she is not in her right mind. Grief has hit her very hard, and I am aware of her newfound financial status as I'm sure you are, Mr Thornton. An attractive prospect for someone such as yourself."

"Aunt Shaw!" Margaret interjected before John could open his mouth. "I can assure you that that is not the case. I find the very idea that you think Mr Thornton would only be interested in marrying me because of my money insulting."

"Don't be so naive, Margaret. You are so young, you still have so much to learn."

Margaret walked over to her aunt. Margaret took both of her hands in hers and held them, staring straight into her face. She was not scared, and she would not give in. John watched the whole thing with a blank expression, unsure what to think at this sudden ambush.

"I am not your daughter, Aunt. I truly am grateful for all you have done for me but I am sure you understand that I am free to make my own choices." Margaret explained, trying to sound as patient as possible. It felt rather like adressing a child; Shalto was far less stubborn than Aunt Shaw.

"My sister would not forgive me if I allowed you to make this mistake. It is a mistake, Margaret dear. You cannot live your life out in this place, raising children in this dirty, disease ridden town. It is not proper."

"I'm not listening to this." John said. His voice was low, and when Margaret looked down she could see his hands were balled by his side in frustrated fists. "I will not ask you to leave as you are Margaret's family. But I will not stay to listen while you insult my home and question my intentions towards your niece. I can only give you my word that I will treat Margaret with every respect and the reverence she deserves. I had nothing but respect for her mother and I counted Mr Hale among my closest friends, God rest both their souls. I do not believe they would be angry at this arrangement and I will not allow you to sully their memories by claiming they shared your low opinion of me. Now I may be from the North and I may just be a tradesman in your eyes, but Margaret chose to come with me because she shared my feelings for her and that matters more than what you think of us. I'll wish you a good day, madam. Dixon, I hope you know you are most welcome to come and work for us."

Margaret blinked at this sudden outburst. She knew he was passionate, that was true, and he had always had a temper. It was most unlike him, however, to speak to a woman he scarcely knew in such a way. Before John walked away, he placed a defiant kiss on the apple of Margaret's cheek.

It was a deliberate, controversial action that felt almost as if he was claiming her. Margaret blinked in a daze, unsure what to make of his behaviour. She watched as he walked along the yard and back into the mill itself. His shoulders were hunched, his head down.

"Are they all beasts in the North?!" Aunt Shaw asked in disbelief as the three women stared after him. "I have never seen such a display of brutishness."

"He is not a beast, Aunt, but I think you will find that Northern men speak rather plainly. I wish you would try to understand him, to understand the reasons why I wish to stay here."

"I fear I do not understand anything about this at all. I must return to London today, and I wish for you to come with us."

"Oh Aunt you must have seen how unhappy I was in London. I felt as though I were trapped in a glass case, screaming to get out yet nobody could hear me. As soon as I arrived in Milton with Henry, I felt a great sense of peace - as if I had come home at last. When I returned later that day with Mr Thornton, I felt lighter than air."

"All this nonsense, Margaret. Lighter than air indeed. Oh, you were always the sensible child. Edith would run around with her head in the clouds but Margaret, Margaret knew what was right. That is why I am so dumbfounded by your rash actions."

"They may seem rash to you Aunt Shaw, but I can only tell you that I have been thinking of Mr Thornton almost constantly since my father died and I left Milton. I love him."

Aunt Shaw's face softened then. She sighed, her shoulders drooping. Margaret watched carefully as her aunt sat down and held her face in her hands.

"Oh, to marry for love." Aunt Shaw almost whispered. "A rare thing indeed. I merely worry you will regret your choice. Do you even know this man?"

"I know him. I know that he is a strong man, resilient and loyal to those who are loyal to him. I know that he loves me, and that he has loved me for a long time with no sign that I returned his feelings. He is a well respected man, a magistrate and an employer of many."

"Who could not keep his establishment open."

"Things have been hard. I hope they will soon improve. Aunt, try to be happy for me. If you cannot manage that, at least try and hold your tongue a little. Mr Thornton is a good man, I promise."

"When is the wedding? Margaret, if there is another reason for all this haste-"

"Aunt Shaw!" Margaret felt herself turn red as she understood her aunt's implication. "I would ask that you say no more. At first we thought of October, but July is now looking more likely. We have yet to speak to the vicar, but will do so soon. There is much to be getting on with, the reopening of the mill will take some time and all of our energies."

"Margaret, I do not mean to be harsh. I just am shocked at the brashness you have displayed. Henry told us -" Aunt Shaw paused, her face twisted as though she were eating something foul. "Henry told us you kissed Mr Thornton in public. That is no way for a young lady to behave."

Margaret flushed with embarrassment. She did not think Henry would have told her family about her discretion on the station platform, yet she supposed she should not be surprised.

"Aunt, let us finish this conversation now and go inside. Mr Thornton and I will travel back to London with you tomorrow as I still need to collect my things. Would you like to stay here?"

"I will go to a hotel." Aunt Shaw said stiffly. "I suppose you will want Dixon to stay?"

Margaret turned to Dixon, who had stayed silent during the entire exchange. Margaret was not sure she had ever known Dixon be so quiet for so long, especially when Margaret did not doubt she had a strong opinion on the matter.

"Dixon, I am sorry you have not been consulted on all this! I will give you the choice, of course. Would you come here and work for us?"

Dixon did not answer straight away, her eyes looking around at the buildings that encircled them. Margaret truly did not know if she would agree to stay, yet she hoped that she would. It felt as if there were nobody truly on Margaret's side, yet she knew she could trust Dixon to be a support here.

"I'm getting old, Miss Margaret. I do not know that I can stand the damp winters up here. Even the summer is cold compared to London, I can feel it in my bones already."

"I understand, but I would make sure you did not have the difficult work. You would be my maid, things would be easier for you. I would so like to have you by my side as I begin married life. Mother is not here to advise me, and she trusted you so much."

Dixon's face softened at the mention of Margaret's mother, the mistress she adored so much and served so faithfully. Dixon finally nodded, and Margaret beamed.

"I am so glad. Dixon, stay with my aunt tonight to help her with whatever she might need. We will all go to London tomorrow, then the three of us will return. I trust that is alright with you, Aunt? Mr Thornton and I shall have a chaperone, there will not be a hint of impropriety."

"I suppose it will do. Let us go in, it is chilly out here." Aunt Shaw shivered slightly, though Margaret found the air to be rather pleasant.

"Yes, Aunt. Will you accompany me to tea with Mrs Watson, Mr Thornton's sister? Perhaps we could discuss wedding plans together."

"I suppose." Aunt Shaw agreed. "I do hope you will not wear that filthy dress!"

Margaret merely smiled, taking hold of her Aunt's arm and guiding her inside.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is stubborn, Margaret is uncomfortable, Edith is overjoyed.

Margaret arranged for tea to be brought into the drawing room, watching as her Aunt gingerly sat down. Aunt Shaw's eyes darted around; though she had been in this very room the last time she was in Milton, Margaret could tell she was assessing whether or not it was suitable for her niece.

It was a handsome room, Margaret had always thought. It was not too extravagant, as you would expect of a woman like Mrs Thornton. It was comfortable, and Margaret was slowly growing used to spending much of her time here.

"Where is Mr Thornton's mother?" Aunt Shaw asked, running a finger along a table to check for dust. "I do not like the idea of you and Mr Thornton having so much time alone in the house with nobody to chaperone you."

"Aunt Shaw, we are all very busy. I assure you there is nothing untoward going on are an engaged couple, surely a constant chaperone is a little excessive? Mr Thornton is a man of great integrity." Margaret said.

She knew how important it was to Mrs Thornton that her son was looked upon well. She would not take kindly to Aunt Shaw's implications.

"I shall have to take your word for it. Perhaps you would be so good as to accompany me to your mother's grave. I should like to see it."

"Yes, I shall. I was there yesterday, the churchyard is most pleasant at this time of year. There is still some blossom in the trees. Let us go now, and then to Mrs Watson's house for tea."

Aunt Shaw looked Margaret up and down. It was the same look she would give Margaret and Edith when they were girls, making sure their hair was tied back and their fingernails were clean.

"I hope you're going to change before we leave the house. Or at least remove that ghastly apron, you look like a servant."

Margaret untied the apron, thankful that most of the dirt from her work seemed to have gone on that rather than her dress. She was dreading sporting one of Fanny's, for she felt most unlike herself.

"I need to tell Jo-Mr Thornton where we're going. Dixon, take my aunt to the churchyard and I shall catch you up."

Aunt Shaw opened her mouth to protest, but Dixon was already leaving the room. Margaret took her Aunt's arm, leading her out. They walked down to the front door together, Margaret watching as Dixon and Aunt Shaw walked out of the mill yard and into the street. She paused for a minute, wondering how she would find John.

His temper had been hidden for the past few days; she supposed he was too happy and relieved to be too cantankerous, but Aunt Shaw's words had struck him hard. Margaret could see the pain in his face as though he had been slapped.

"John?" Margaret knocked on the door.

"Come."

She opened the door, slipping through and closing it quickly behind her. She leaned against the wood, almost afraid to approach him. She felt bitterly disappointed in her aunt - and fearful too that he would think badly of her for doing so little to control her aunt's malice.

"Hello."

"Have you come to demand I apologise?" John asked, not looking up from his writing. The sound of the nib scratching at the paper filled the room; he was pressing down too hard, Margaret could tell. "You're wasting your time if you have."

Margaret shook her head, entering the room and pushing the door closed behind her. She stood before the desk, unsure if she should sit down. This was only a quick visit, and more to make sure that he was not stewing in a rage than for any other purpose.

"Come, John, let us not have cross words. I understand why you said what you did, but I wish you and Aunt Shaw could make amends. I just came to tell you that Aunt Shaw and I are going to visit Mama's grave and will be back later to take tea with Fanny."

At that, John stopped his frantic writing and looked up. He nodded, his hard expression softening slightly. Margaret knew that he understood her grief; her father's grave was far away in Oxford, her mother's resting place was the only tangible connection Margaret had here to her family.

"Alright. Take care, I shall see you this evening for dinner. I've heard back already from several customers, the ones nearby sent their replies with the first post. Mostly good news, so I've lots to be getting on with."

"Of course." Margaret did not leave, though John had returned to his writing. Instead, she wandered closer to him, her hands resting on the rich wood of his desk. After a few moments, he looked up.

"Margaret, I know there is something else you wish to discuss. Say what you must, I can't bear you hovering over me like that."

"My aunt is not an unkind woman, John. She is merely concerned at the apparent speed of our engagement. She had no idea you were anything more than my father's friend. We were never great friends, nor have we ever courted. You must understand her reservations, though I obviously do not agree with them."

"She insulted me, Margaret. She called Milton filthy and dirty and implied it would be an improper place to raise children. This place is in my blood, Margaret, it is who I am. She might as well have called me disease ridden."

"I know it was insulting. She was wrong. She does not know Milton and she has never truly seen poverty before. It must come as quite a shock for her, we must try and understand.."

John scoffed at that, placing his pen down on the desk. He leaned forward, looking at Margaret with careful, watching eyes.

"I do not waste my time trying to understand ignorance. Do you agree with her?"

"Of course I do not!" Margaret said indignantly. "How could you think that?"

"She's clearly come here on a mission to change your mind. To say that you are not in your right mind because of grief, then she'll take you home to 'think about it' and I shall never see you again."

"I am sure she does not truly intend to do that. Besides, I have made up my mind and I will not leave you. I will never leave you, as long as we both live. That is the pledge I have made to you."

"Your children-"

"Our children." Margaret corrected him. "I believe you would be involved in their creation as much as I."

A small smile flickered over John's face, quickly chased away by what he had to say next.

"Our children, when the time comes that we have them, would be Northeners. They would be born here and they would grow here. They would follow me, God willing, into this trade. What would your family make of that?"

Margaret laughed in disbelief, shaking her head at such an absurd question.

"They would simply be happy to have another blessed child to dote on, I am sure. You are overthinking this, my love. My aunt has always had a sharp tongue, she does not seem to care who she cuts with it. You will learn to pay her no mind."

"I am sorry that I could not keep a cool head. I will try and be civil to her for your sake. You know I am not much good at falsehood though, I cannot be nice for the sake of it."

"I'm not sure anyone could ever accuse you of that, darling." Margaret teased. "Aunt Shaw is my closest family in England, she and Edith are all I have. Please, please try and hold your tongue, just for two more days. I would be so glad of it."

"Are you going to tell your aunt the same?" John asked. "I'll not be told to behave as though I'm a naughty child, Margaret, if she's allowed to continue to say whatever vile things she wishes."

"I will speak with her." Margaret promised. "I am sorry for her behaviour. I did not wish for the first formal introduction between you to be like this."

John nodded, his hand moving to rub his forehead as though he were in great pain. His shoulders drooped, his elbows slipping so his head was almost on the desk. Margaret stepped closer, concerned at his sudden slump. She reached out to touch his forearm, which was bare beneath the rolled up cuff of his shirt. He seemed to jump a little at her touch, though he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

"I know you didn't. I am sorry that I have upset you, but I am not sorry for what I said in defense of myself, my home and my intentions. Can't we just run away? Vanish in the night to Scotland, be married by a blacksmith and come back with no more cares other than the running of this place." He murmured against the back of her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles with every word.

Margaret blushed, snatching her hand back. John looked at her, concerned that he might have offended her. A smile spread across her face, and she laughed gently.

"John, think of the scandal! Our engagement is already growing shorter by the day, eloping is not appropriate."

"I know." He sighed. "I really must get on, Margaret. Has my mother returned yet?"

"No. I am not looking forward to your mother spending any length of time with my aunt, especially when she is being so frank about her opinions."

"Mother will put her right, don't you worry." John said, a smile on his lips. He had a dark sense of humour that Margaret was still growing used to, and he clearly found that particular comment most amusing.

"That is what I'm worried about!" Margaret protested. "I must go. Oh John, tell me this will all be worth it in the end?"

"I hope so, love. Now go and pay your respects to your mother while I try and get this place out of the pits."

The three women walked through the quiet graveyard to Maria Hale's final resting place. The last of the spring's blossom clung to the grass, pink petals turning to brown mulch beneath their feet. It was a rare moment of true peace in Milton, usually so loud and so smokey. To be here was to be in another world entirely.

They did not speak as they stood before the grey stone. Margaret thought of Papa, buried far away in Oxford. That stung her, that her parents were not together in their rest. So much had changed in these past few days, and Margaret felt a stab of longing for her parents. Grief still clung to her, a dark shadow that could not be shrugged off.

When they arrived back at Marlborough Mills, Mrs Thornton had also returned. Margaret assumed that John had spoken to her of the sudden appearance of Aunt Shaw, as Mrs Thornton did not give any appearance of being surprised by the lady's presence in her home.

Mrs Thornton was already sitting down in her usual chair, a pot of tea and three cups on the small table in front of her. Her needlework lay beside her; she had clearly been waiting for them.

"Mrs Shaw." Mrs Thornton said, nodding her head but not getting up. "How do you do?"

"I am concerned." Aunt Shaw said frankly. Margaret was a little astonished at the lack of courtesy - perhaps Aunt Shaw was a little more Northern in her ways than she would ever acknowledge!

"I am sorry to hear that. What are your concerns?" Mrs Thornton asked.

"I am concerned that Margaret has been staying with your son." Her aunt said, the outrageous accusation of just what 'staying' really meant almost whispered.

Margaret felt a surge of anger that her Aunt would voice this most scandalous accusation to her future mother in law, a woman so proud of her son and his flawless reputation, when she had already been told that there was nothing to be concerned about. Margaret was even more sure of her decision to leave this place and move to her own lodgings, fearful that others would make the same sordid assumption.

"I can assure you that they have seperate rooms, obviously. I would never allow anything immoral to go on under my roof. Miss Hale and my son have informed me that she is to move into her own house until after their wedding, so there is nothing further to be concerned about."

"I wish Margaret to return to London with me. I believe she needs time to think over her decision with a little more clarity."

Mrs Thornton did not say anything for a while, instead thinking in the quiet, considered way Margaret knew well. Every eventuality run through her mind, every consequence predicted. Margaret was sure Mrs Thornton was the most shrewd woman who had ever lived. Even Aunt Shaw did not dare to interrupt.

"That is Miss Hale's choice, I suppose. I must say that both my son and Miss Hale are not the type to make decisions they do not intend to see through. My son has never made an impulsive choice in his life."

Margaret could not let her aunt speak again, and cleared her throat. Both women turned to her, and Margaret tried to keep her tone as polite and respectful as possible. She did not wish to have a falling out with her aunt, but she found it hard to keep a civil tongue in her head when her aunt was behaving as she was.

"I am staying here, as I have already made clear. Mr Thornton and I will travel to London with you tomorrow, I shall collect my things and then we shall return as soon as possible. Whether or not you wish to come to the wedding is your choice, Aunt, but I should so like it if you would come."

Aunt Shaw said nothing in return to Margaret's words. Mrs Thornton did not think it her place to involve herself and excused herself to arrange transport to her daughter's home. Silence settled over the room, aunt and niece stubbornly staring at one another until Margaret eventually excused herself to change, gesturing that Dixon should accompany her.

Dixon followed her silently, and Margaret knew that the silence would not last for long. Dixon knew her place, but she had never been shy of airing her opinions. In a way, Margaret wasglad of it.

When Margaret showed her into the bedroom and showed her the new dresses that Fanny had given her. Dixon ran the fabric through her fingers, glancing over them with an approving look.

"What are you thinking, Dixon?" Margaret asked.

"I am thinking these have been the strangest three days I've ever experienced Miss!"

"Are you cross at me?" Margaret asked in a small voice.

Dixon thought for a moment, taking a seat on the desk chair. Margaret knew Dixon's knees were not as they once were, and had no objection to her sitting down. Dixon looked her over, a smile on her face.

"Oh Miss Margaret, you should have seen your aunt's face when Mr Lennox returned to the house without you. She was muttering under her breath all evening, then set her mind to coming here just as soon as she could. I was brought along to help her with her clothes and try and make you see some sense, as she put it."

"You will stay?" Margaret almost pleaded with her. "I know we have not always seen eye to eye but I know my mother would have been so pleased to know you were with me."

"I'll stay, Miss. I'll stay because of how well I loved your mother, and for the love I have for you as her daughter. I don't much fancy being bossed around by that Mrs Thornton though."

"She is the mistress of this house, but you will be my personal ladies maid. I suppose once I am married, I will be the mistress of the house - though I am not sure she will be too pleased about that. She is not such a bad woman, Dixon. Just a little severe."

Dixon nodded in agreement. She tilted her head, looking Margaret over.

"Are you happy, Miss? You do look it. You've colour about you again, and I'm sure I've never seen your eyes light up like when you looked at Mr Thornton!"

"Dixon!" Margaret blushed. "I am very happy."

"Why were you scrubbing a floor, Miss? I know you learned to do a little ironing and such back at Crampton but I didn't think you'd taken to housework so much!"

"I am opening a school room, as I said. I thought it would be something to keep me occupied, and it is a chance to improve the lives of those who wish to study. It might come to nothing, but I should like to try. I scrubbed the floors myself because I have yet to tell Mrs Thornton of the scheme. I don't want her to think I'm taking over."

"It all sounds very ambitious." Dixon said for want of anything else to say. "Let's get you into a clean dress."

"Do not lace me too tightly, please. I am feeling a little tired, I'm not sure I can face a tight corset today as well as Aunt Shaw."

"Of course."

When Margaret had finished dressing, she found that Mrs Thornton had gone on ahead to inform Fanny of her extra guest. However, she had promised to send her carriage back to collect Margaret and her aunt, according to Jane.

When it was time to leave, Dixon remained at the house to be given a tour by Jane and the other servants. Aunt Shaw and Margaret sat in stony silence as they travelled. Margaret felt a ball of anxiety settle in her stomach, unsure of how the afternoon would proceed.

Fanny, as it turned out, was overjoyed to have a grand woman from London to tea.

"Hello, Mrs Shaw." Fanny said. "How nice to see you again."

"Mrs Watson. I am sorry for my unexpected visit, I do hope it is not an inconvenience."

"Not at all!" Fanny tittered. "Do come in."

Margaret had not yet been to Fanny's married home - she was unsurprised to find it as lavish and as excessive as Fanny was herself. The wallpaper was a little garish for her personal taste, an extravagant pattern that Margaret recognised from the Indian section of the Exhibition. The room was large, though rather dominated by an enormous piano that sat conspicuously in the corner of the room.

The four women sat and drank tea, the conversation light and uninteresting. Fanny trilled about some new play that was to be performed in Milton. Fanny spoke at length about many things, and Margaret and her aunt nodded politely. Mrs Thornton said very little, though Margaret could feel her eyes on her constantly.

Fanny seemed to tire quickly with the lack of an engaged audience, her stories running dry. Nobody else seemed able to make conversation, aside from a few remarks about the decor of the room they were sat in. Margaret felt exhausted, unsettled sleep for the past few days rendering her useless. She did not like to admit it, but she did not function well on less than nine hours sleep. Edith had always said that Margaret was a monster first thing in the morning.

How Margaret longed to see her cousin; she hoped she would at least be swept up in the romance of it all. Her aunt was disapproving by nature, but Edith was wonderfully scatterbrained. She adored beautiful things, whimsical stories and love. She wasn't too different to Fanny, though Fanny was a little more narcissistic than Margaret's beloved cousin.

"Are you quite well, Miss Hale?" Fanny asked, interrupting Margaret's thoughts. "You've been very quiet today. It is certainly not like you."

"I am fine. I am merely thinking of all I have to do, I am sorry."

"What is so important that you cannot join our conversation?" Fanny asked, stirring her cup.

Fanny had a way about her that made Margaret feel uncomfortable; she was painfully aware that Fanny had never really liked her. Moments like this confirmed it.

"I am thinking about the work I have to do. I'm not sure if Mr Thornton told you, Mrs Thornton, but I am planning to open a small school room at the mill. For the workers to learn to read and write, free of charge."

"He did not." Mrs Thornton's face was an unreadable slab of stone. "I thought the basic running of the mill would be more important than setting up a school. There are already schools in the town, the workers don't need the distraction of it.."

"Of course the mill is the most important thing. Jo-Mr Thornton" Margaret hastily corrected herself "Mr Thornton will see to all of that. The school room is my own project, I require no involvement from him at all. The lessons would be after their work has finished."

"The workers will see it as a charity. They do not take kindly to that." Mrs Thornton placed her teacup down on the table, the china rattling against the saucer.

"Perhaps they will. I am sure some will take the opportunity, and if they do not then I will put the room to some other use. I have seen much suffering, and while I cannot do much I just thought - if more workers know how to read and write, surely that can only be a good thing?"

"They will only start reading books that give them ideas above their station." Fanny said, disapproval dripping from every word. "Then there will be another strike once they start to think they're worth paying more now they can read."

"I don't believe that to be true, Mrs Watson. Mr Thornton supports my venture wholeheartedly, which I do not believe he would if he thought for a moment that the education of his workers would only serve to encourage unrest."

"I don't think the workers will take to it." Mrs Thornton said stiffly. "They have no interest in learning, Miss Hale. All they seem to care about is the coin that goes into their pocket at the end of the week, nothing else."

"They care about that because they are hungry!" Margaret said, forgetting to hold her tongue. "They have many children to feed, their homes are damp and often unfit to live in. What else do they have to focus on?"

"And yet you wish to remain here." Aunt Shaw chipped in. "Amongst such squalor. To spend your time teaching those who clearly have no desire to learn."

"I do wish to remain here, as I have told you several times. Let us change the subject, this is not teatime talk." Margaret shifted uncomfortably in her chair, aware that her sharp tone towards her aunt had caused Fanny to shoot a look to Mrs Thornton.

"Indeed it is not, Miss Hale." Fanny said, who held herself straighter in her chair and tried to look disapproving.

Fanny had not mastered her mother's disapproving look, instead looking like an angry child. Margaret, annoyed at herself for failing to keep her thoughts to herself at such a precarious time, felt shame burn at her nonetheless. She did not wish to quarrel with her new family, nor did she wish them to think she was trying to stir up trouble.

The tea continued for around another hour, conversation turning to the wedding. Aunt Shaw made a few half hearted suggestions, and Margaret was pleased that it seemed as though she had at least resigned herself to the fact that Margaret would be staying and marrying Mr Thornton.

It was certainly not an easy social engagement, Margaret thought as they returned to Marlborough Mills in an uneasy silence. Aunt Shaw went on to her hotel, saying she would take dinner there so she could retire early before the journey back to London. Margaret was glad; she was not sure she could face yet another tense atmosphere. She felt exhausted by it all and excused herself to rest before dinner.

She spent the early part of the evening writing more letters; she had not informed Mr Bell of the sudden changes in her circumstances. She wondered how his health was, in the South American sun. It was strange to think she would never see him again. She thought with horror that he may have already died, and she would not know for weeks. He had shown such generosity towards her; his money was the reason she had returned to Milton. She wondered if he would be surprised to learn of her engagement. Then again, she wasn't sure anything surprised Mr Bell much - he seemed to see everything, to know everyone.

John was late for dinner; he muttered his excuses as he sat down. Higgins had visited late in the day with good news - the workers were due back a week Monday. The men were desperate to come back, though it would be a staggered return. At least three, maybe four weeks until the full workforce would be needed. There were orders already, he told them with a relieved smile. Mrs Thornton looked adoringly at her son, and Margaret realised that her own face must have looked the same.

The three made quiet small talk, though Mrs Thornton occupied her son's conversation. Margaret was happy to let them speak, her eyes struggling to stay open. She was not usually so tired, and she had to keep pinching the back of her hand beneath the dinner table.

"Margaret." John's deep voice interrupted her. She jumped, surprised he was using her first name in front of his mother. "You're tired, we have a long journey tomorrow. Go to bed."

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what has come over me. Forgive me for my rudeness."

"It isn't rude to be tired, Miss Hale. I'm sure you'll grow hardier, and used to the strain of mill life."

"I am not afraid of hard work." Margaret shot back, feeling a little offended that Mrs Thornton should imply otherwise.

"Good." Mrs Thornton said with a smile.

Margaret smiled back.

The train sped its way through the countryside, taking Margaret back to London. It had only been four days since she had last been there yet it felt like a lifetime ago. Aunt Shaw sat beside her, John and Dixon opposite. The place felt rather cramped with all four of them in there. John in particular looked most uncomfortable squashed beside Dixon, his long legs taking up much of the space in between the two benches. Margaret noticed that he had brought three papers and a book along for the journey, clearly intent on remaining occupied and avoiding small talk.

Margaret tried to engage the compartment in conversation but nothing much worked, her efforts being met with half hearted grunts in reply. In the end, she gave up. Closing her eyes, she managed to sleep all the way to London.

John accompanied the women to Harley Street but did not stop, taking the carriage onwards to do business. He would be back this evening, though, he told Margaret, he wasn't sure of the time. He had written to a hotel nearby when they had first talked of coming, and was sure they would have a room waiting for him.

Margaret walked inside the grand house, so stark in contrast to the dark rooms of the house in Milton. Nothing had changed, yet Margaret herself felt so different. At the sound of the front door opening, Edith clattered her way downstairs - as if she were a dog overjoyed to see her master. All of the etiquette and manners that had been drilled into both of them in their childhood seemed to have slipped Edith's mind as she bounded down the stairs.

"Margaret! Oh Margaret where have you been?!" Edith ran to her, baby Sholto balanced on her hip. He held his chubby little arms out to Margaret, and she took him into her arms.

"I have been in Milton, you know that. Hello little one!" She beamed at Sholto, taking his cheek between her thumb and forefinger and gently pinching. She was rewarded with a bout of laughter from the infant.

"We must talk, away from Mother." Edith whispered in her ear. Sometimes, being with Edith made Margaret feel like they were children again, whispering naughtily in the corner where Aunt Shaw wouldn't hear them.

"I am going to rest after the hideous journey." Aunt Shaw announced at the perfect time.

Margaret knew she was merely being dramatic - Aunt Shaw was a well traveled woman, undertaking journies far more strenuous than the train journey from Milton to London. Her aunt swept up the stairs, followed by two maids who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. She called over her shoulder, "I shall see you all at dinner."

Margaret followed Edith to the library, the baby being taken away by his nanny for his afternoon nap. They sat down together on the couch in the corner of the room. Margaret had always loved this room; light streamed in through large windows, the perfect room for reading. There was no time for books today, as Edith was staring intently at her cousin.

"What?!" Margaret squirmed under her intent gaze.

"I have to know everything!" Edith whispered, her eyes darting around to make sure nobody was hiding covertly behind a bookshelf. "This is so unlike you Migs!"

"How is Henry?" Margaret asked first. "Is he terribly upset?"

"He was a little..oh, I can't think how to describe his mood. I think he was shocked, as we all were. To hear you had been kissing a tradesman on a station platform!" Edith said, though she had a wicked smile on her face.

"Please do not phrase it like that." Margaret told her in a serious tone. "It makes it sound so sordid. There is nothing shameful about it, though I confess I forgot myself."

"Tell me about him." Edith leaned forwards and took her hands. "If he makes you glow like you are, I want to hear all about him."

Margaret was surprised by Edith's enthusiasm - and apparent unconditional acceptance of the situation. Edith had an entirely different temperament to her mother, but Margaret hadn't expected to be welcomed back so wholeheartedly.

"Aren't you angry with me? I know how much you wished Henry and I would marry." Margaret said, thinking of all the unsubtle excuses Edith had made to force Henry and Margaret to spend time together over the years.

"I did hope for that. How lovely it would be to have you as a sister! Perhaps at first I was shocked, but I have thought of nothing else for the past three are the one who must live with whomever you marry, so perhaps it is for the best that you have made your own choice. Come, before we get interrupted! I wish to know all about this Mr Thornton. From the little I saw of him at the exhibition, I know that he is quite handsome."

"I'm not sure there is much to tell." Margaret said with a small smile, knowing that if she began to speak of John she would scarcely be able to stop. Her mind replayed the past few days over and over again, her heart bursting with joy at each precious memory. They were her memories, though she shared them with him. She did not wish to share them with Edith, rather to keep them locked away as a secret she shared only with John.

"Is he kind? Does he make you laugh?" Edith asked; she valued fun and laughter much more than Margaret. It did not take much to make Edith smile.

"He is amusing in his own way. It takes time to grow used to his sense of humour. He is a clever man, certainly, dedicated to his business and he does not suffer fools gladly. He has great kindness about him too - he often sent my mother fruit to try and ease her suffering, he would sit and talk for hours with my father after she died. He has been most gracious to me, making sure I am happy. Though, he is a little rougher than the men we meet here in London, do not misunderstand me. He can be hard, and quick to temper when impassioned. He is a complicated man, I feel."

Edith almost swooned.

"Oh how wonderful. The Captain is most uncomplicated. Though I suppose I am uncomplicated too, so we are well matched. You, Margaret..it was always going to take someone rather special to sweep you off your feet."

"I have known him for almost two years. I hardly think that constitutes a whirlwind romance."

"Perhaps not. Have you been yearning for him for all that time?" Edith asked with a breathless sigh, having read rather too many romance stories.

Margaret laughed involuntarily, thinking of all the time she had spent at odds with John. There certainly had not been love between them at the start. She would not tell Edith about the rejected proposal; John would not want everyone to know. He was a proud man, and Margaret would respect his privacy.

"Not quite. It is a rather long story, one I would rather not go into. I started to accept that perhaps my feelings for him had changed when I left Milton. I was so consumed by grief I could not think, but in moments of clarity thoughts of John would come into my head."

"Oh, how romantic. I read your letter to Mother, I know I shouldn't have! Oh, it arrived yesterday after she left and I could not resist opening it once I saw the Milton mark. To meet by chance, in the middle of Milton and London! I could weep with the romance of it all."

"Please don't." Margaret gave her a friendly nudge. "So you'll come to the wedding? And bring Sholto?"

"We wouldn't miss it!" Edith said excitedly. "Oh, what are you going to wear? When is it?"

"We thought at first October, but we've settled on July, though we've yet to speak to the vicar. We have been so busy for these past few days that it might be a little bit of a rush to get things organised. It is already May!"

"Such a short engagement! Are Northern weddings much different to our London ones? I am sure you could never plan a society wedding in such a short amount of time."

"Not really. I do not know as many people as you, dear cousin, so it will not be as grand as yours! I wish for something a little simpler, especially as John re-establishes his business."

"Not too simple! You will only be a bride once, God willing. You must enjoy yourself!"

"I would be happy wearing a potato sack if it meant I were marrying John." Margaret said with a wry smile. "But I suppose a new dress wouldn't be such a terrible thing. A modest one."

"I meant to ask sooner, what on Earth are you wearing?!"

"John's sister Fanny gave me it as all my other clothes were here. I look quite frightening I am sure! I wish to change as soon as possible. That's why I've come, to gather my things. And to say goodbye to you, of course."

Edith sighed.

"I can scarcely believe you won't be here anymore. We have grown so used to having you here. Sholto will miss you terribly. I shall miss you too."

"Milton is not so far away, and I will still come to London to visit. It is the North, Edith. Not Australia."

"A pity. I've always longed to see a kangaroo."

A/N: Sorry if there are any mistakes, this has been a beast to write and edit!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret walks with Edith, John is an unwelcome guest.

Margaret enjoyed her brief time in London. The afternoon was spent in the company of Edith, who insisted on taking her to the dressmaker who made her own wedding gown. Margaret wished to order her dress in Milton, though she admitted the dresses in London were the very latest style and rather beautiful. Edith twittered in her ear constantly about how the wedding should be planned. By the time they neared Harley Street, Margaret was quite exhausted by talk of flowers and organ music. It had never mattered to her, and it did not matter now. She was looking forward to her wedding, of course, but she hoped it would not become larger than she wished for.

Margaret had never had extravagant tastes; she did not share Fanny and Edith's joint desire for new clothes and beautiful objects. She merely wished to marry John, and as she had said to Henry all those years ago, her favourite dress would be just fine.

"You have to have something new!" Edith told her as they walked down the street arm in arm. "If you get married in plain everyday clothes, everyone will think you are poor!"

"It just seems to be such an awful lot of money for something I will only wear once. It could be spent much more wisely."

Margaret thought, as she often did, of the people in Princeton. Even when there was work to be had, things were unimaginably difficult for those who lived there. Some families barely had enough to eat even in the best of times, never mind enough to waste on new clothes. It filled her with shame to see how much the rich society in London had compared to the people living in crowded, dirty homes back in Milton.

"Oh, Migs! How boring you sound."

"Sensible, not boring." Margaret corrected her. Edith did not know much about poverty, and she meant well. Margaret tried to join in her high spirits. "I did rather like that last design she showed us. The embroidery on the skirt was very detailed."

"You would look beautiful in it. What are the dressmakers like in Milton?" Edith asked, as though Milton would not have fine workmanship - a slightly ridiculous thought, considering that most of the country's fabric came from the place.

"They are very good, I think. We never had much spare for new clothes and I had no real need for any. Fanny Thornton always looked well appointed."

"That monstrosity you were in earlier says otherwise!"

"I think that says more about Fanny's personal taste than the skill of the maker." Margaret said with a small smile, relieved to be out of Fanny's clothes and back in her more sensible skirts.

"Well, if you wish to have a new dress, and you must wish it! You shall need to act quickly. It is already mid May, two months is hardly any time at all for such a fine dress to be made."

"I will go to the dressmaker when I am home." Margaret relented.

"So Milton is home now?" Edith asked with a grin.

"Yes. It is home." Margaret said with a small smile. "I shall have something simple though. I do not think it right to waste so much money when there are better things one could do with it."

"You're sounding more and more like a hard Northerner every day, cousin." Edith smiled. "I do not believe I have ever seen you so happy. Your eyes are shining with glee. I am glad of it."

"Thank you. I was so worried what you would make of it all, Edith. I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you are not cross with me."

"Mother will come around to it." Edith said, understanding the unsaid. "She is just a little stuck in her ways. I believe she- well, she believes Mr Thornton to be unworthy of your hand."

"I am well aware of that, she has been vocal enough these past two days. It does not concern me. I do not require her approval but I should like to have it all the same."

"He is coming to Harley Street for dinner tonight, yes? Then let him speak for himself." Edith told her cousin, mindful that Margaret could be a little loose with her tongue.

"I fear he has lost all patience with your mother, Edith. He will not want to charm her, he is not that sort of man. He does not have time for fickle conversation."

"You make him sound so severe, Margaret! I am sure it will be fine. I should like to meet him properly and talk to him, even if Mother would not."

"Will the Captain be dining with us?" Margaret asked, hoping that the presence of another man (even one like Maxwell Lennox) would ease the tension between John and Aunt Shaw.

"No, he has a prior engagement tonight. Did I tell you we shall be going to Corfu?" Edith asked.

"No! When?" Margaret asked, saddened at the thought of her cousin being even further away.

"The autumn, I think. Shalto will enjoy the warm climate, and the chance to dip his little toes in the warm sea. I shall enjoy it too, I think."

"Oh Edith, I shall miss you so!" Margaret said.

Another piece of her already small family gone to foreign shores. Her aunt would no doubt join her daughter there; she was already barely in England as it was. Now Edith would be stationed abroad, Margaret doubted Aunt Shaw would stay in London for long at all.

"I will write, of course. Perhaps you could come and see us, with your husband. You could stop at Cadiz on your way - that would serve as a lovely honeymoon."

"It is a nice thought." Margaret said wistfully. "Though I am not sure John would be able to take so much time away from Milton. I would so love to go to Cadiz, I know John would love to meet Fred."

"He knows about Frederick?" Edith asked, her voice dropping in volume. Prying ears were everywhere, and many in London knew of the Shaw's relationship to the mutineer Frederick Hale. "You are still going to try and defend him, aren't you?"

"Of course. Henry was helping me with that, but I do not know if he would still want to help me, not after.." Margaret could not finish her sentence, feeling embarrassment burn in her chest. She had been so brazen in her display of affection that Henry must have felt it a personal insult.

"Henry is a kinder man than you credit him. I am sure he would still help, if not for love of you then for love of me, his dear sister in law." Edith beamed.

Margaret couldn't help but laugh at that; Edith had a charm about her that implored anyone she met to show her kindness. Henry had been working hard on the intricacies of Frederick's case, but it had been a favour to Margaret. Margaret had also suspected that he was using it as a way to spend more time with her. Surely now she had become engaged to another man, Henry would not be so forthcoming with his aid.

"Let us talk of something else. Sholto is beginning to speak very clearly, I hear."

"Yes, and getting himself into more mischief every day! Oh I cannot wait for you to have children, to give Sholto some cousins to play with. And this new baby, of course."

The last detail was dropped into conversation quite casually, and it took Margaret a moment to realise what Edith meant. A smile spread over her face, and she looked at her cousin. Edith was as slight and delicate as ever, with no sign of so much as an inch of extra flesh on her frame.

"New- Oh Edith! How wonderful."

"I haven't told Mother yet." Edith admitted. "I have only been certain for the last few days, and she has been rather preoccupied. I shall tell her when you have returned to Milton."

"Of course. I won't breathe a word of it."

Margaret spent the rest of the afternoon alone - Edith was tired and needed to rest, Aunt Shaw was simply "out for the day, Miss" according to her maid, and Dixon was busy packing and arranging the shipping of Margaret's things to Milton.

She settled herself in the library, allowing herself the indulgence of an afternoon spent reading for nothing but pleasure. Life would be busy after they returned to Milton, and Margaret would allow herself just one last afternoon of idleness.

The selection of books in Aunt Shaw's library was vast, though Margaret knew nobody read them save for herself. It was merely about appearing to be well read, rather than actually taking the time to study the pages. Margaret loved it in the library; it contained a vast treasure of knowledge. The shelves held every type of book, from the Brothers Grimm to scientific journals.

The hours passed easily as Margaret lost herself in literature, her mind blissfully void of any stress or cares. She barely even noticed as the light began to fade, the house silent around her.

She closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmed with tiredness that seemed to come from nowhere. It was not like her to be so frequently tired; she found it most irritating. She supposed she had been worrying more than usual. Worrying was a tiring pastime, one she hoped not to continue for much longer.

She jolted awake, aware someone had placed their hand on her shoulder. She turned, expecting to see Dixon. The room was pitch black now, and she did not know how long she had been asleep.

"Margaret, are you alright?" John asked, his hand moving to stroke her face. It was so dark she was surprised he could see to do so. She nodded, yawning.

"I did not mean to fall asleep, I merely closed my eyes for a few moments."

"I have just arrived, one of your aunt's servants let me aunt is dressing for dinner, your cousin is doing the same. The girl told me I would find you in the library and brought me here. I would not have known you were in here but for the sound of you talking in your sleep."

"I do not talk in my sleep!"

"Aye, you do." He said with a chuckle. "Is there a lamp in here? I've much to tell you about my meetings today, and it would be nice to see your face."

"Yes, there's one by the window. Let me."

Margaret rose from the chair. She would know her way around this room blindfolded, and she easily found the lamp. Hoping there was some oil left, she fumbled for the matches that were kept close by. The room was soon filled with a soft amber glow. She turned to look at John, who she could see was still wearing his coat, his hat in the crook of his arm.

"Did they not take your coat?" She asked with a frown. It was not usual for a man to still have his hat inside, it should have been taken by the servant who showed him in.

"No." John said shortly; he knew full well that this was a slight, and Margaret knew it too. "No matter, love. I'm quite capable of carrying a hat around."

"I am sorry my family have been less than welcoming to you, Sir."

"I am Sir now, am I?" He asked softly.

He walked over to her, set his hat down on the table and pulled her close to him. She could smell cigar smoke on his coat and smiled; surely this was a sign that things went well today.

"John. Tell me, is it good news?"

John smiled, a tiny smile that to anyone else would still look like a frown. Margaret found herself being able to tell more and more about his inner feelings just by the slightest movement in his face. She knew him a little better each day.

"It is. Once I told them I had substantial financial backing that was secure, they seemed pleased. I should have all I need to resume operations by Wednesday week. The first order of the raw materials will arrive on Monday, I've told Higgins to have the workers come to me then so it is all going according to plan. Can we get the earliest train home tomorrow morning?"

"Of course."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her forehead, resting his cheek against her head. She felt small then, though she was not a short woman. He had a way of enveloping her. She did not mind it. She revelled in it, in fact.

"How was your day? How did your cousin take the news?" John asked.

"Very well. She seemed thrilled, in fact."

She felt him smile against her hair, and she could not help but do the same.

"Good. It is nice to know at least one of your kin supports this marriage."

"She is leaving England in the autumn, for Corfu." Margaret told him, a sadness settling in her stomach. She held him tighter, not caring if someone should walk in and find them like this.

"A pleasant part of the world, I have read. Her husband is being stationed there?"

"Yes. And - do not tell her I have told you - she is expecting another child." Margaret told him with a smile.

"Is it a good idea for her to travel in her condition?" John asked.

"I am sure the journey will be broken up for her. What time is it?"

"A little after seven, I was later than I planned to be."

"My aunt takes dinner late, it is no matter. Come, let us go and find Edith. She is dying to meet you."

"Margaret?" Edith's voice rang out, clear as a bell. "Margaret, did I hear the door?"

"Yes, Edith. We are in the library."

The door to the library was pushed open, and Edith entered. Sholto was balanced on her hip, the child's nanny trailing behind them. Edith beamed at the pair, passing the babe back to the waiting nanny.

"You must be Mr Thornton!" Edith said with a smile, nodding her head in greeting. John did the same. "I saw you from a distance at the Exhibition, but it is wonderful to meet you properly. I am Edith, as we are to be family."

"John." He told her, and Margaret was sure his voice was smaller than she had ever heard it. "A pleasure to meet you."

"And this is Sholto." Edith took the child back into her arms and proffered him forward.

John smiled and shook the child's tiny hand with one finger. Edith laughed joyfully; her son was her greatest pride. Margaret's heart was warmed to see John be so tender to the babe; he seemed to have a great aptitude with children, something unexpected from one so stern.

"Nice to meet you Sholto." John said, speaking to the child as though he were an adult. He looked to Edith. "How old is he?"

"He will be two in the summer." Edith said, running a finger down her son's face. "I sometimes look at him and wonder where my tiny baby went. He seems to be bigger every day."

"They grow fast." John agreed, to make conversation. "Is your husband joining us tonight?"

Edith passed Sholto back to his nurse, who took him from the room.

"No, unfortunately he is needed elsewhere this evening. He and I will both attend your wedding."

"Good. It will be your first visit to Milton?"

"Yes, though Margaret has described it to me so vividly I feel as though I have been there already."

Margaret hoped her cousin would not mention the less than complimentary things she had written about Milton in the past. Though, really, it was no secret that it had taken her a good while to grow fond of Milton. Indeed, it had taken her long enough to grow fond of Mr Thornton. Seeing him now, talking with her cousin and standing in her aunt's house, she wondered how she had ever not loved him. Her passion for him burned her now, and she wondered how she had ever been so foolish as to deny it.

As they sat in the drawing room waiting to be called for dinner, Margaret heard the loud chime of the doorbell. She wondered who would possibly be calling at this hour. Aunt Shaw was still absent; Margaret suspected she was sulking.

The door to the drawing room opened, and Margaret felt her heart drop into her shoes. Henry Lennox stood in the doorway, though he froze in his place when he saw Margaret and her fiancé within. Margaret's face grew hot, and she felt as though she might faint. She had done wrong by him, and she felt that shame.

"Margaret." Henry nodded, his face not showing even a flicker of emotion. "Thornton."

Margaret watched as John rose, striding in his way to the man at the door. Her throat was tight with fear about what would happen; she truly did not know. To her overwhelming relief, John merely stuck his hand out to Henry. Henry looked at the other man with narrowed eyes, before shaking his hand firmly. The handshake itself was a little aggressive, Margaret noted, with both men retreating from the courtesy with whitened knuckles.

Henry did not move to sit down.

"I am sorry to interrupt, I did not know you were here, Mr Thornton. I came to visit Edith and Mrs Shaw this afternoon, and Mrs Shaw informed me you had returned to London, Margaret." Henry said. "Might I speak with you alone for a moment?"

John opened his mouth to protest, though Margaret had already risen. She had spoken to Henry alone hundreds of times; he did not frighten her, nor did she worry he would say anything untoward. She followed him out of the room, purposely avoiding John's hard stare.

Henry walked away from the drawing room, and Margaret followed. He stood in the hallway, his hands behind his back. She paused opposite him, waiting for him to begin.

"I - I have news about Frederick." He said. "He has written to me and said that he does not wish for us to continue trying to clear his name."

"What?!" Margaret exclaimed with horror. "How can that be?"

"His letter arrived at my office this morning. It seems he is concerned that dragging up the case against him will lead to his extradition from Spain. Too much interference on our part could put him at risk; he is resigned to exile and happy with his life in Cadiz, it seems."

"They could not extradite him, could they?" Margaret asked in horror. The image of Frederick being dragged back to England to face trial was too terrible to bear.

"If the Navy becomes aware of what we are doing, they would work with the Spanish consulate to try and find his address. They have some sort of deal with foreign governments, it is not much publicised but people know of it. I spoke with a colleague today who knows more about this sort of thing than I do. Perhaps it is just a baseless worry, but I find myself agreeing with your brother. If he is happy with his life as it is with his Spanish wife, why risk his safety?"

"But he didn't do anything wrong!" Margaret protested.

"Margaret, I fear you are looking at this with biased eyes. Whatever his reasons, your brother did lead a mutiny." Henry said, and Margaret could see he was trying to explain this as gently as possible. It did not make his words any easier to hear.

These new developments stung Margaret. She knew that her brother's motivations for the coup were good ones, but there was no convincing the law. She thought of the men who had served alongside Frederick, now long dead - hanged by the Navy who would do the same to Fred with no hesitation.

"Is this really true, Henry? You are not lying to spite me?" She asked in a whisper.

Henry recoiled a little at this sudden accusation.

"You think me capable of such dishonesty? Margaret, you know me a little better than that, surely. I am a lawyer, I would not lie about legal matters. I would certainly not compromise my integrity for petty revenge. I am a man of morals. Unlike some."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Margaret asked with a frown.

"You seem to have taken leave of all your senses, that is all. How could you act in such a brazen way?" He whispered to her, though she knew he had already told her aunt of what had happened at the station. There was no need to be discreet about it all now, she thought.

Margaret felt that familiar shame at her actions burn in her chest, but she pushed it away. She would not be made to feel guilty, she would not regret a single moment of that first, wonderful kiss with John. She would not allow Henry Lennox to stand there and shame her. She could see the distatin in his eyes, and it made her seethe with anger.

"I will not discuss that with you." She began to turn, but Henry grabbed her upper arm to stop her.

She brushed it off furiously, and he closed his eyes. She watched as he tried to form some sort of argument, though she cared little for what he had to say.

"All I did for you, all I could have offered you-" Henry began, but Margaret held up a hand to stop him.

"You will find another woman, Henry. Someone who truly loves you, who can be a good wife to you. I would never have been what you wanted." She tried to speak as softly as she could manage, to show him kindness.

"Do you love him?" Henry asked.

"Dearly." Margaret told him.

"I hope you are very happy together." Henry told her, as staid and emotionless as he ever was. He handed Margaret a large envelope that she had not even noticed he'd been carrying. "I have prepared the contracts between you and Mr Thornton, if you would be so good as to sign your copy and pass on his to be reviewed by his own legal adviser, I would be grateful to you. The funds are ready to be transferred."

"Thank you. John has already begun the arrangements to re open the mill, so it is important he has the money I am lending him as soon as possible. I thank you for your hard work, Henry."

"It was nothing." Henry said tightly. "Merely my job. Good day, Margaret."

Margaret echoed his sentiment, though she could see his face was set in a fury. She watched as he walked away, and moments later heard the front door slam as Henry Lennox left Harley Street.

A/N: I know in the book Edith has already been to Corfu, but it wasn't mentioned (I think?) in the TV show so I wanted to bring it in line with that.

Please review if you're that way inclined!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John asks Margaret a question.

A/N: I made some edits to the end of the previous chapter that are mentioned in this one, so might be worth going back and having a re read just of the last two or three paragraphs.

As he watched the door to the library close, John felt an unpleasant sort of tension in his bell. He recognised it well, having felt it's vicious stab many times. Jealousy. It tore at him as easily as a knife through cotton. He did not like that about himself; how easily that emotion seemed to come to him. It was a wasteful, indulgent thing and he did not care for it.

He did not care for it, though he would not admit it to himself, because it made him feel weak. He was not intimidated by a man like Henry Lennox; somebody who thought old family money and a university education made one better than everyone else. John remembered Henry Lennox well; he had gone over meeting Margaret at the Exhibition a thousand times in his head. Each time, Henry Lennox's sneer had been repeated in his mind - becoming exaggerated over time, eventually bearing no resemblance to the real Henry Lennox at all.

Many a night he lay in bed, wondering if Henry Lennox would be the man who won Margaret's heart. It was a strange thing to think, as he had met him so briefly and knew little of Margaret's connection to him. However, he knew that Lennox was her cousin’s brother in law, and that familial connection was bound to be a strong one. That was enough to set fear in him.

That thought had mercifully not come true. Margaret had never been a prize to be won, and she had instead offered her love to John as not a prize but as a gift. John had given her his own love long, long ago. There was never any hope of loving anybody else.

"You musn't mind Henry." Edith said cheerfully, cutting into John's thoughts.

He turned to look at her, his eyes finally moving from the door. She was smiling; she had a kind face, Margaret's cousin. She did not resemble Aunt Shaw much, but perhaps that was simply because she was looking upon John with kindness.

"I don't mind him." John told her sharply, the words catching in his throat. He cursed himself as he noticed the wince on Edith's face at his tone. He sighed. "I'm sorry, I have been very rude, sitting here in silence. My thoughts are preoccupied."

Edith's eyes darted to the door. John was sure she knew full well why his mind was so distracted, but she merely smiled serenely and changed the subject.

"How went your meetings today? Migs spoke of the mill and all its workings to me today, she is most enthusiastic about your trade!"

John could not help but smile at the revelation of Margaret's apparent childhood nickname. He wondered, though, how much Margaret really understood of the workings of the mill. She had only been inside the mill very briefly while it was open, and John knew that she knew little of the intricacies of trade.

He hoped she would try and learn. He did not believe in shutting women out from business. Indeed, his mother had been an invaluable asset to him. She had a sharp, unrelenting way about her but she could show a feminine kindness or two when driven to it. Men as masters with no woman around them, he found, generally lacked any empathy at all. ,

His mind was distracted; he was constantly listening to hear any part of the conversation from the hallway. He could hear only muffled voices.

A silence settled between them. John did not truly know what to say to somebody like Edith; in truth he knew very little of her life. He had never been in the military so knew little of her live as the wife of a Captain, nor had he ever lived in London. There must be some common ground between them, he thought.

"Tell me, Mr Thornton, about the cotton trade." Edith said after a while.

Whatever the common ground, John knew it was not cotton.

"What about it? There is rather a lot to say about it."

"Oh I don't know. Tell me of how you became involved in the industry. Was your father a tradesman?"

"He was, aye. He died when I was a lad." He would say no more about that sorry part of his life. "I worked hard to build my own mill and my own reputation."

"I am sure you did. Margaret told me how hard you work, the relentless hours and strenuous physical labour. It is strange, we do not see manufacturing here in London yet we are so reliant on its produce."

John tried not to laugh at that; though the manufacturing was not as fine as that in Milton (in his opinion anyway), there was more than a fair share of industry in London. It was true that there was not the space for large factories, but John knew things like matches were produced here in great numbers. You had to travel outside of the center of the city, something he suspected Edith did little.

"There is manufacturing in London, plenty of it. Not so much of cotton and cloth, but the supply comes through here via Southampton. Men run their business from here, and they employ a great many. There are factories to be found, just not in places where rich folk'll have to see it." John did not wish to talk about work all night; his mind was already swimming with it and he was sure it would bore Edith. "Your son is a fine little lad."

At the mention of her son, Edith's face lit up. Her smile reached her eyes.

"Yes, he is. I never realised how much I could love another person until he was born. Would you like to have children?"

John was a little surprised at the question; it was always assumed that married couples would have children. The children were always viewed as for the women, but John had a strange sort of yearning in him to be a father. He had found himself daydreaming these past few days, something he had never done in his life. Thoughts of what their children together would look like.

"Of course."

"Sholto has taken to you. He is very picky about who he smiles at, and the grin he gave you was as broad as I have ever seen."

John chuckled a little at that. He was not someone who people took to easily, he had found, so for a babe to like him so easily made his heart glad.

Margaret had still not returned. He could not hear anything now.

"I'm sure everything is fine." Edith told him as she saw him glance towards the door for the fiftieth time.

Suddenly, the sound of the heavy front door closing echoed through the house. John bit back a sigh of relief, instantly springing out of his seat. Edith barely stifled a laugh; John was sure he looked utterly ridiculous. He was over eager, like a puppy in the way he bounded about.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment." John said to Edith, who merely nodded and smiled at him.

He opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. He could see Margaret, leaning against the wall. He rushed to her, his arms going around her without a thought. She sniffed heavily.

"Hey, hey." He whispered, kissing her hair. "What's the matter?"

"F-Fred has written to Henry. He does not wish for us to keep fighting for him. Henry says that attracting too much attention to his case may lead to some collaboration between our government and Spain and they will hand him over to the Navy."

"He fears he will be extradited?" John asked. "Would they do such a thing?"

"Henry thinks so. So we must give up, and my brother will never be free to return to England. What if I never see him again, John?"

"You will. I shall make sure of it." John promised her.

"What if he is extradited? If he is not offered protection in Spain the Navy will have him hanged for sure and it will all be my fault." Margaret said, her voice wavering.

She took a deep breath, though in the dim light of the hallway John could see tears shining in her eyes. He held her closer to him, her head resting against his chest. Now he could not see her face, he felt her sob.

"You tried to do right by your brother, love. I am sure he is grateful for your efforts but if he wishes for the matter to be dropped then you must respect that. He is happy in Spain, yes?"

Margaret looked up at him, nodding.

"Yes, he is. I know he loves his wife and I suppose we must be thankful that he is able to live a happy life with some semblance of normality. It just feels as though he is a world away from me. Edith will be going to Corfu soon, and Aunt Shaw rarely stays in London for long. I will have nobody."

"You will have me." John assured her. "You will be a Thornton. We may not be a large family, but we look after our own."

"I know. I just so wish Fred could give me away, like you gave Fanny away. It all feels very lonely sometimes. So much has changed in just a few short days, my head is swimming with it all."

"I hope once we are married you will never feel lonely again. I have felt that same sort of loneliness and it is a bitter thing. I do not wish you to suffer it anymore." He went to hold her hand, but noticed she was holding something. "What's that you've got?"

Margaret looked down at the envelope in her hands, as though she had forgotten all about it and was surprised to see it there.

"It contains the contracts for our business arrangement. Henry says the money is ready to be transferred to you. How have you been managing to pay people if you've no money in the business?" Margaret asked.

John had been waiting for that question; it was true that he had little enough money of his own at the moment. There was a small (and growing ever smaller) amount that he had set aside for emergencies, but certainly not enough to get the mill back up and running.

"I haven't had to pay anyone yet. They will send me an invoice with the goods. They have been very trusting with me, they know I am a man of my word. I told them a little of the new circumstances; of Mr Bell and you. The mention of his name helped, he is very well known. Those men that I've had dealings with before know that I would pay my debts even if it meant I had to live in the gutter."

"You are an honourable man, anyone with eyes could see that." Margaret told him.

"Did Henry not need to speak with me? I imagine my signature is needed on the contract as well as yours."

"He said you could have your own lawyer look over it."

Margaret held out the packet to him and he took it. John wondered if the contracts had been drawn up before Margaret had even been to Milton, for it took time to compose such documents. Did she know he would say yes?

"Aye, I will. He left in a hurry is all." John said.

John could not pretend to be disappointed at this; he did not relish the idea of having to make small talk with someone who clearly disliked him. It was a waste of time. However, it would have been good to get a sense of the sort of man who was helping Margaret with her business affairs. He wanted to make sure he was trustworthy; someone who did not underestimate Margaret's intelligence just because she was a woman.

"He is upset, I think. He is a proud man, I am sure he does not wish to see us together. I think I have wounded his pride."

"I thought he had come here to try and change your mind about me." John said softly, brushing his thumb over Margaret's temple. He was trying to keep his hands to himself, yet he found whenever he was near her he couldn't help but reach out to touch her. She did not brush him away, so he made no effort to stop.

"He asked me if I loved you." Margaret told him.

John gritted his teeth; it was an impertinent question for a man to ask a woman.

"What did you tell him?"

"What else could I tell him other than yes?" Margaret said with a smile, her eyes searching his. He did not know what she was looking for. He took a deep breath.

"Margaret - if you wish to change your mind about us-"

As soon as the worlds left him, he regretted it. It was not the first time he had given Margaret the chance to escape their agreement, but he could tell from the look on her face that it must be the last time he expressed such doubts. Margaret's smile rapidly faded. She stepped back from him, as though she had been burned. She frowned, looking at him as though she did not know him at all. He swallowed hard, knowing that he had made a mistake in trying to ask her such a foolish question.

"How could you ask me such a thing, John? Do not insult me by implying I agreed to marry you on some kind of whim."

"I did not mean that I just- being here, seeing your family, seeing Henry.. This is a different world, one I cannot offer you."

"If I wanted to marry Henry, I would have done so when he first asked me!"

"He asked you to marry him?" John blinked at the sudden confession. "You never told me that. I did not know that."

"I didn't think it relevant. It was so long ago!"

"I knew that he cared for you, any fool could see that even in the brief time I spoke to him at the Exhibition. He looked at you in a way that I recognised well. I thought - I merely thought I was inventing things, that my jealousy was creating stories in my head."

Margaret's eyes were fixed on her shoes. John could not tell what she was thinking, though she was suddenly more timid than she had seemed all week.

"It was so long ago, before we moved to Milton. I told him no, I did not even let him finish.." Margaret said.

"You told me no too." John pointed out, interrupting her. "You stopped me too. How many others have you rejected in this fashion?"

Margaret's eyes widened as she looked up at him, the insult clear to see in every inch of her face. John winced at his own clumsiness, his own harshness.

"You asked me to marry you when I was recovering from a head wound and had spent all night nursing my dying friend. It was not the right time, I did not - my feelings were not-"

"You did not love me then." He finished for her.

She was silent for several moments, and John wondered what she was thinking. John had always loved that about her; that he could not predict her next word. Now, however, he found it most frustrating indeed. He wanted her reassurance, perhaps even to admit that she had been lying to herself when she had rejected him. It was foolish to wish such a thing - it would have made the long period of waiting even more pointless than it already felt. He had yearned after her for so long that it would hurt him even more to know that she had loved him that whole time.

"No, I did not." Margaret said finally.

John was not sure if he felt gladdened or saddened.

"Do you love me now?"

"How can you ask me that?!" Margaret hissed at him, her eyes darting around looking for anyone who might overhear their conversation. "Do you think I would cause this much upheaval in my life if I did not truly wish to be with you?"

"I'm sorry." John said softly. "I - I am being too prying."

Margaret scoffed at that.

"I do not mind you knowing about my past, John. I would tell you anything. I do not wish us to have secrets of any sort, it just never occured to me to tell you. I am hurt by the things you have said, I must confess that. You speak too freely, you do not know that your words can be sharp as blades."

John rubbed at his head, trying to ignore the thumping in his skull that had been there all day. It was increasing in severity, the pain shooting into his neck. He was prone to headaches as he got older, his muscles tight and damaged from years of crouching under mill equipment to repair it. The headaches occurred when he was stressed, making an already bad situation worse.

"I have a side to me that I am not proud of, Margaret. I have a temper, you know that well. It seems to go hand in hand with jealousy."

"There is nothing to be jealous of. Henry is a good man, he has been a good friend to me. I hoped - I suppose I was wrong - that he did so out of kindness rather than love. I hope that he will continue to advise me. He is a clever man."

John appreciated that Margaret needed advisers who acted in her best interests; she was just beginning to understand the financial responsibilities Mr Bell had left her with. Henry, for all John loathed him, did seem to be advising Margaret well.

"It is your choice who you have your business dealings with. I'll not stand in your way."

"John. Know this - my heart lies with you. It will always be yours, I will always be yours."

"And I will be yours." John echoed, taking her hands and clasping them tightly against his chest. "I should go. Let me read the contract tonight, I know my way around legal jargon well enough by now. I shall bring it back signed when I collect you and Dixon tomorrow morning. I will be here early, mind. Six in the morning."

"We will be ready. Are you sure you will not stay for dinner?" Margaret asked him. "You need to eat, I would wager you haven't eaten all day."

It was true; John ate very little. It had always been in his nature; his mother had likened him to a little bird when he was a small boy, so delicate he had been. Fussy too, much to his mother's chagrin. Then as he got older, he would eat anything. In the bad times, they did not have much choice about dinner. He would go without just to make sure his mother and Fanny had enough to eat. It had left him with a small appetite, and he could go days without eating before he really felt the ill effects.

"No, I better get back to my hotel and look over the paperwork. Let me say goodbye to your cousin, before my manners completely escape me and you think me a beast."

"I could never think that. I am sorry, truly, for not telling you about Henry."

"You've nothing to apologise for." John told her. "I am the one who should be sorry. I will never speak to you like that again, I was out of line."

"Let us part friends." Margaret said softly. She held out her hand to him. He took it, shaking it gently then raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss upon her knuckles. "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Margaret. I shall be here at six, sharp."

"I shall try and be awake." Margaret said with a smile. "I shall see you then."

Margaret led him back to see Edith. As they opened the door, Edith let a squeak out as the heavy wood hit her and she fell to the floor with a clatter. She had obviously had her ear pressed against the door to hear their conversation, but made quite a poor spy. John found himself laughing, a real uncontrollable laugh, for the first time in years.

A/N: Please review if you're that way inclined, they really do help! I'm feeling a bit like I'm wading through treacle writing sometimes!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Margaret return to Milton.

Margaret could hardly keep her eyes open. Her head lolled against Dixon's shoulder. The train jolted her around, though even being thrown about like a sack of potatoes could seemingly not rouse her.

"She never was good at early mornings." Dixon said with a chuckle, running a fond hand over Margaret's hair. "I used to have to shake her awake for church on a Sunday."

"I'm sorry we had to get back so early." John told Dixon, though his eyes did not move from Margaret. "I'm used to rising before the sun to ready the mill for the day's work, I forget that others aren't so acclimatised."

"Miss Margaret likes her sleep." Dixon told him with a smile. "You wouldn't think it to know her, what with how she rushes around all the time. Up with the lark she certainly isn't."

"I'm sorry." Margaret mumbled, her eyes still closed. "I will wake up soon."

"Hush, you rest a while. We're quite alright." John said.

He longed to sit beside her, to stroke her hair as Dixon had done. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to feel her sleep against him. Instead, he was alone on the opposite side of the carriage. Dixon kept a careful eye on him.

He had barely got any rest at all last night, his mind endlessly occupied thinking about their return home the following morning. It was Friday now, and he had instructed Higgins to have the workers at the mill on Monday morning. There was so much to do, so much to prepare. Sleeping seemed wasteful, yet now there was a long expanse of time with little to do, he closed his eyes.

He fell into a surprisingly deep sleep. For once, he dreamt of nothing. His body felt weary, and his mind mercifully allowed him to rest properly.

He woke up to the sensation of something brushing against his neck. He woke with a start, trying to work out what had tickled him. He looked down; Margaret was looking up at him, her hair against his neck.

"Where's Dixon?" He mumbled, closing his eyes again as he put his arm around her to hold her close. The sun shone through the windows, warming his skin. He felt relaxed, a welcome break from the tension of being in London.

"The train has stopped for fifteen minutes." Margaret told him, her hand finding his. "She has gone to stretch her legs."

John opened his eyes, looking down at Margaret's soft, smiling face. He kissed her forehead.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sleep for so long."

"You looked tired, it is good you rested. Do not work yourself to the bone, John. I can see you are weary. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"It does not matter. I've so much to do." He shrugged. "

"For now, you may rest." Margaret instructed him. "In fact, I insist on it."

"Is this what marriage will be like, you telling me what to do?" He asked teasingly, tangling his fingers in the whisps of hair that had come loose from her bun on the journey. He tucked them behind her ears.

"I expect so."

"Then I can't wait."

She curled into him, her arm winding around his waist. If Dixon should find them like this, John was sure there would be cross words. He did not care; he merely pulled her to him. They sat together, curled up like kittens, oblivious to the rest of the world passing by them.

"That was the last time I'll go to London unmarried." Margaret told him with a soft smile. "I shall be Mrs Thornton whenever I next go."

"I cannot wait for that day. I cannot wait for the day we may travel unaccompanied, and I can spend hours in your embrace without Dixon glaring at me."

"This has been a rather different train journey to our first." She whispered, her fingers tracing his arm. "I long to be alone with you."

"I don't suppose we could get married this afternoon.." John asked, closing his eyes again. Margaret kissed his neck boldly in reply, and John found it almost impossible to restrain himself. His hands gripped the seat tightly, and he made a strange noise he'd never heard before.

"I think we'd better stop before Dixon comes back." He said in a strangled tone.

Margaret sighed, getting up and taking her place opposite him. He reached over and held her hand, smiling at her.

"I love you." She told him. "I am glad London went well, for both of us."

"I wish you were coming back to my house." John told her. "Not shutting yourself away where I cannot see you."

"I am hardly going to a nunnery." Margaret laughed. "I will miss you, of course. It is not for long, anyway. Time will move quickly once the mill has reopened. I think we have perhaps been in our own little world these past few days."

"Three days until the workers come back to the mill. It will be a struggle to be ready, I haven't allowed enough time to get everything done."

"You will be." Margaret told him. "Do not panic, love. It will take time to resume full operation but you have time now. You have orders, you have materials, you will have workers. Do not be too hard on yourself my love."

"I suppose. We'll need to go to church on Sunday, to speak to the vicar." John said, mentally adding that to the seemingly endless list of things he had to do. "Best set a proper date, get it all sorted out."

"I can go alone, if you wish."

"No, I want to be there. I suppose then we will need to organise the wedding breakfast and all that."

"Leave it to the women." Margaret smiled. "I am sure Fanny has it all planned."

They arrived back in Milton early in the afternoon. Margaret, followed by a cab full of suitcases, went straight to her new lodgings. John was sorry to see her go, walking back alone to the Mills. He had promised to call on her with his mother that evening for dinner, knowing he had much to prepare.

He dropped his bags at home, trying to make a quick exit to get to work in his office. However, his mother's ears were as sharp as ever and no amount of creeping would escape her.

"John?" She called out. "John, come to the sitting room."

"Mother, I must get on. I've contracts to look over."

"Fanny is waiting in the sitting room, she wishes to talk to you and I without Margaret being here."

John rolled his eyes. Fanny rarely had anything important to say, but he did as he was bid. He walked in and sat down, waiting for his sister to begin. She dithered a little, and he wondered what she was about to say. She did not usually lack the confidence to say whatever was on her mind.

"I wanted to tell you when it was just us here, just family." Fanny said, and John thought she seemed unusually nervous. "I wanted to tell you both that I am expecting a baby."

"You've managed to keep that quiet." Mrs Thornton said with a smile. "I had no idea. I think that's the first thing in your life that you've kept to yourself."

"I can keep a secret!" Fanny said in outrage. "Aren't you pleased?"

"Of course I'm pleased." His mother told her with a smile, standing up to kiss her on both cheeks. "My first grandchild."

"Congratulations, Fanny." John kissed his sister's cheek, giving her a tight hug as he used to when they were children. "I'm happy for you. Really. It's just a surprise."

"I've known for a few months now." Fanny said, clearly pleased that she had managed to keep such a big thing secret for so long. "Doctor Donaldson said the baby will come in October. I didn't like to say anything before but I am glad you've moved your wedding forwards. Otherwise I would have been terribly fat."

"I am glad it suits you, Fanny." John said with a smile.

Fanny ran off to tell Jane her good news, and his mother began to laugh. Well, John knew it was her way of laughing - to anyone else, she was hardly making a sound or moving her face at all.

"Did you honestly not notice? She's as subtle as a bull in a china shop. I've known for months."

"Then why did you not tell her that?" John asked.

"Look how happy she was to have managed to keep such a secret for so long. We always did indulge her a little, didn't we?" She said with a fond smile.

Hannah and Fanny Thornton were as different as mother and daughter could be. John knew his mother loved Fanny just as much as she loved him - but Fanny had always felt left out. John and his mother were much more similar to one another, and he would be the first to admit that he trusted his mother with every aspect of his life. Fanny and Mother had fought like cats and dogs, especially when Fanny was thirteen.

"You always told me off if I pandered to her."

"She had you wrapped around her little finger when she was a girl. I didn't want her growing up spoiled, not when we had so little to spare. Too little too late, I fear."

"She's Watson's problem now." John said wryly. "I'm happy for them both. A baby will be a good thing for Fanny; she might grow up a little."

"Aye, it will be - but I dread to think of the bill she'll land Watson with for the nursery."

John chuckled; Fanny did indeed have expensive tastes. The thought of having a baby around pleased him; he would like to be an uncle. Babies were easy; they did not argue back, they did not want anything other than attention and food. If only everything in life were so simple.

"I need to go, I've still got at least twenty machines to maintain and paperwork to finish." John stood up. His mother frowned at him, and he sank back down into the chair ready to be admonished.

"I don't like you fixing those machines with no one around to assist you." His mother told him. "Get someone in a few days early to maintain them, or at least help you. You'd work far quicker with another man, it isn't practical to do all of it yourself."

John shook his head.

"And employ one man before the rest? The union would be down on me like a tonne of bricks. I know what I'm doing Mother, I've fixed every one of those machines a dozen times. The men will look them all over again on Monday before work begins, but this saves time."

"There's no use arguing with you when you've set your mind to something. Be careful. How did the meetings go?"

"Surprisingly well. A new supply chain is being established, so I will be a part of that as well as the existing one I had an arrangement with. Hopefully any delays will be lesser now. It all feels too good to be true, like it's about to crumble around me."

"Have the financial details been ironed out?"

"Margaret and I have signed a contract. I'll go and see Latimer this afternoon, to talk it through with him. Mr Bell used him for his financial affairs, but Margaret has her own man who seems to be overseeing the inheritance. I'd been trying to avoid Latimer in all honesty."

"I've heard that there is gossip." His mother admitted. "It would appear Ann is most upset."

"It is just gossip, Mother. Ann and I never had any kind of arrangement."

"You spent an awful lot of time with her for someone you did not have feelings for." His mother pointed out. "At best, it appears you simply lost interest. At worst, it looks as though you used Ann to get to Margaret. I am loathe to repeat the gossip but you must see it from a woman's perspective."

"We were never courting, Ann and I stopped seeing each other socially months ago. She seemed to lose interest in me at the first sign of my financial trouble, which I don't doubt her father warned her about."

"You think that he would?"

"Aye, I am certain of it. She is his only child, he'll carefully orchestrate any match that benefits their family. I will go and see him, and I will try and straighten things out with her. Margaret has already scolded me about the whole thing, don't join in."

He had not considered Ann Latimer in months until Margaret had mentioned her a few days ago, yet he had no wish to cause her pain. The time they had spent together, though little of it had been alone, had been pleasant enough. She was a fine woman. If he had never met Margaret - perhaps things would have been different.

"How were Margaret's family? Were they civil to you?"

"I barely saw them, truth be told. Her aunt was certainly frosty on the journey down there. Margaret says she will be at the wedding, I am not so sure. Her daughter, Edith, she was a funny kind of person. She seemed very pleased about the whole thing, and was generous to me. She has a young son, he seemed to take to me in that easy way that children do. She's expecting her second in the autumn."

"Must be something in the water." His mother said with a small smile.

"Other than that, I didn't have much to do with them. I was busy, but knowing at least one of Margaret's relatives doesn't despise me will do me just fine."

"They don't know you, John. That Aunt Shaw of hers has a very high opinion of herself, yet she is just a private woman who travels a lot. She has no achievements that I could tell, no real character. What right has she to judge you? What right have any of them?"

John knew his mother hated anyone thinking ill of him; it was kind of her, but not necessary. He did not care what others thought; being a master gave you a thick skin. People spoke ill of him daily, he was sure many of his workers had cursed his name often enough. It did not bother him.

His only concern was Margaret; she had so few family members left, he did not wish for her to be alienated from any of them - certainly not on his account. He was too short with them, he did not try hard enough. But really - Aunt Shaw had been so determined to dislike him that he could have got down on his knees and sang to her and she would still loathe him.

"Mother, it is fine. I did not expect that they would take to me. I think - I think now that they had hoped Margaret would marry Edith's brother in law. I am sure it is all just a shock that she has moved away and become engaged to a stranger so suddenly."

His mother tutted and folded her arms.

"Well they could be a bit more polite about it. It was a shock to us all but you won't catch me airing my grievances in such a loud voice."

"What grievances?" John asked, surprised at her tone. "I thought you were happy for me."

"I am, I am. It is an adjustment, that is all. Margaret is a strong minded girl, I am sure she will change things - even if she does not intend to."

"Mother, I've already told you - nothing will change."

His mother shook her head with a knowing smile. She moved to stand beside him, running her hand over his hair.

"You do not know what it is like to be married, to have a wife. It is natural that things should change and I will not hold back the natural order of things. Margaret has every right to run a household, and I hope to teach her. If she'll listen to me, that is. I've things to be getting on with myself. Off you go, be back for dinner. You're getting thinner by the day."

John kissed her on the cheek and left the sitting room. He heard his mother call after him as he left.

"Tell Margaret when you see her the carpenter's been round. I didn't have the key to the school room so there's all sorts sitting in the spinning room."

"That'll be her benches and tables then. I'll move them later. Thank you, Mother."

John left the house and walked into the smokey afternoon air. He did not go straight to the mill. He put his hat atop his head and left to go and visit Margaret in her new home.

The streets were quiet; it was the middle of the working day, and those who were out of work did not frequent this area of the city. Margaret's house was indeed close to his. It was not a large building, sitting on the end a great row of houses that all looked the same. It was nice enough, and he was glad to know that she was not too far from the mill.

He raced up the steps, so eager to see her though they had parted only half an hour or so ago. He knocked on the door and waited several minutes for it to be answered. Dixon opened it, red faced and frowning.

"Oh, it is you Mr Thornton. Come in, we're in need of a man's strength." Dixon hurried him in, peering behind him as she closed the door. It was the middle of the day and nobody cared what they did, John was sure, so he did not understand why Dixon was so concerned with others seeing him.

"Oh?"

"Dixon, who was it?" Margaret called out, though John could not see her.

"It is Mr Thornton."

"Oh John! Come upstairs, we've got ourselves in a bit of a bind."

John followed Dixon up the stairs, curious what this bind could be. Margaret did not need much assistance in anything.

"Ah."

"Do not take this to mean anything, Mr Thornton." Margaret told him as she tried to hold up what surely must have been a great weight to her. "I will be perfectly fine on my own."

John tried not to laugh as he observed the scene. Margaret was grappling with a large, heavy looking curtain pole that dangled from its place on the wall. John rushed to her and took the weight of it. It was indeed solid, and he was amazed she'd managed to keep it up for so long.

"I tried to pull the curtain back and it came off the wall. Dixon tried to take it but we didn't want to rip it down completely, and she is so much shorter than me that it didn't work. If we do not hold it, we fear it will rip the plaster from the wall even more than it has done already."

"I'm sure it can be fixed. From the looks of that hole, the whole wall is rotten."

Margaret looked deflated as she looked at John with a frown.

"Oh. Perhaps this house is not so fine after all. Still, it will do for now." Margaret said, looking up at the wall with a worried face. "What are we going to do about that?"

"The whole thing'll need to come down before it hits someone on the head."

"The wall?!" Margaret asked in alarm.

"No, the curtain pole." John reassured her. "Could you get me a chair? I'll take it down for you now, then I'll get someone to come and take a look at the entire place for you. I'll not have you living in somewhere unsafe, I do not care how much you protest. They shouldn't

have given you the keys without a proper inspection."

"I'm sure you're overthinking this." Margaret said as she dragged a rickety looking dining chair over to him.

He hopped onto it and began working the metal away from the wall. It did not take long, and he managed it with little further damage to the wall. Margaret watched him the whole time, he could feel her eyes on him. Dixon went away, saying that the kitchen was in such a state she could hardly stand it.

"There." John got down from the chair and rested the curtain pole on the floor. "Done. Try not to touch anything else, love. I have to go, I just wanted to check on you."

"We will be quite alright. I think I can go a few hours without seeing you."

"Mother said your furniture for the school room has arrived from the carpenter. It's been left in the mill, we need to get a copy made of that key I gave you."

"Yes, a good idea. How quick the carpenter was! I suppose they might have had most of it all ready, it wasn't the most unusual of orders. I'll go and move-"

"No, you'll wait for me. You can't manage a curtain, I'm not having you dragging bits of wood around. Come to the mill about five, we'll sort things out together if you insist on doing it yourself. Right, I must be off. Business to see to and all that. I love you."

"I love you. Thank you for your help."

"Any time. Though, hopefully this will not be a regular occurrence."

He leaned down to kiss her forehead, surprised when Margaret lifted her head to catch his lips with her own. They kissed for a few minutes, not caring if Dixon should see them. John did not want to be ashamed of kissing the woman he loved in private, he did not care that they were standing by an open window.

Let all the nosey buggers of Milton see. Then there would be something real to gossip about.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John must clear the air with the Latimers.

After making sure there was nothing else in Margaret's new lodgings that was going to crash to the ground or fall away beneath their feet, John bid the two women good day. Briskly, he made his way across town to call on Latimer. It was a visit that was overdue; there was nobody quite as good at managing money as him, though his fondness of speculation was not to John's liking. However, he had a good mind and a cunning one at that.

He knocked on the door and was shown to the man's study. John knocked on the closed door, taking a deep breath. He had never been nervous speaking with people in the past; when it came to business, he could talk to anyone for any amount of time. It was a skill that was invaluable. However, small talk was not something he enjoyed, and awkward matters such as this were even more loathsome.

The door opened, and Latimer ushered him in.

"John. I was wondering when I'd see you. I hear the mill is reopening, that was a surprise. I'd expected to see you before now, but here you are. How have you managed it so quickly?"

He poured them both a brandy; it was a little early in the day for John, but he took it. Perhaps it would help him deal with the matter a little more eloquently. If not, perhaps it would help him forget the whole thing.

"A new investor." John said.

"Miss Hale, by any chance?"

"How did you know?"

"Bell told me of his financial plans for Margaret. I know how she involved herself in the lives of your workers so it does not surprise me that she'd use her newfound wealth to provide them with work again. You are a reliable master, easier to support you in reopening than find a new tenant for the place. I saw her a few days ago, not far from Marlborough Mills and I put the pieces together. Did she tell you she saw me?"

"Aye, she did." John replied. The look on Latimer's face told him that the man already knew there was more going on between the pair of them than a mere business deal. John steeled himself.

"I've heard on the wind that congratulations are due to the pair of you. It's all Milton can talk about."

"We've hardly told anyone." John said. "I'm surprised you've heard."

Latimer laughed.

"You have servants, don't you? You may as well hire a town cryer." Latimer said with a shrug. "My wife told me yesterday evening. Ann too."

"We've been away down in London, sorting things out with her family and I've been there on business. I did not think that the news of our engagement would spread so fast."

"There is always gossip, and it tends to spread to the womenfolk remarkably quickly. I won't pretend I wasn't a little surprised. I had always been under the impression you and Miss Hale did not get on." Latimer gestured for John to sit, and he did so.

"She challenges me." John said simply; he did not wish to discuss the intricacies of his feelings for Margaret with a man like Latimer. "I need to apologise to you."

"Not to me, Thornton. You owe me nothing. Ann, however- I will not pretend she was not taken aback by the news. She told me she was under the impression you did not wish to enter any marriage."

John knew the truth; that he had desperately wanted to be married, but had been so bitterly rejected that the idea of falling in love with anyone else was unthinkable.

"I did not think that I did." John said He took a drink of brandy, though it was more of a large gulp and most of the glass was finished."It was not my intention to damage Ann's reputation."

"Are you implying you did something that would cause it damage?" Latimer asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course not. I just mean - stepping out with her, I did not mean for it to appear like I had any intentions-"

Latimer cleared his throat, cutting John off. John was glad of it, he was not sure what he would say next or how he would explain his apparent sudden change of heart.

"Save it. There is no harm done, Ann will survive. I know she has an impeccable character." Latimer said pointedly.

John had to bite his tongue; to him, Latimer's comment sounded an implication that the woman John was marrying did not have an impeccable character. His hands clenched involuntarily, but he decided the subject was not worth pursuing.

They settled down to discuss business, John running through the basic outline of the loan and his plans for how the mill would resume its workings. Latimer listened with interest, and John was just starting to feel the tension he'd been carrying in his shoulders lift when there was a tap at the door. It opened without the visitor waiting for a response

"Father? I am off to visit Mrs - oh. I am sorry, I did not realise you had company."

Ann paused in the doorway, frozen as though she had seen a ghost. She was dressed to go out, and her eyes widened slightly when she caught sight of John.

"Miss Latimer." John inclined his head to her.

She nodded her head in return. She did not leave the room, instead walking over to her father and his guest, gesturing towards John.

"Father, might it be possible for me to speak to Mr Thornton alone? Just for a moment."

Latimer looked between them and nodded.

"Of course. I'll be just outside, Ann." Mr Latimer fixed John with a hard glare.

There was an awkward silence as Latimer left the room. John was not sure what was about to happen; he just hoped it would be over quickly.

"So, you are to be married after all." Ann said lightly, walking to the window when her father had left the room.

"Ann-" John began.

Ann settled herself on the seat at the window ledge, turning to face him. She held a hand up to stop him, clasping her hands in her lap. Her back was perfectly straight, the light from the window meaning he had to squint to look at her. It was strangely intimidating.

"Mr Thornton, if you would allow me to speak. I feel as though I am never allowed to say anything! I know we have not seen one another for some time. I - I must ask that you let me speak my mind, just this once." Ann said. Her voice was soft and flat, her northern accent chipped away from her by her time at finishing school.

"Of course."

"I know there is talk that I am most distraught about your engagement to Miss Hale. I heard whispers as I walked with my mother this morning, I caught people staring at me. I do not wish there to be any whispers at all about me. I am not upset by the announcement. You and I have not spoken for months, and I was quite aware that our attachment or whatever it was came to an end long ago. I- I must however confess that I had hoped at one time that we would marry."

Her voice wavered uncertainty, and she cleared her throat. She could not look John in the eye, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. Ann was not a woman who usually spoke so plainly. She had been brought up to know her perceived place as a well raised woman - to let men speak and to merely listen. John did not share that opinion of a woman's place.

"I am sorry if I gave you that hope."

"You did, and you did not. You somehow managed both at the same time, Mr Thornton. If I remember correctly, you kissed me once." Ann said, turning her head to look out of the window.

John winced; he had indeed kissed her when they were out walking - shortly after Margaret had left Milton. Nobody had seen the pair of them, he'd made sure of that. He did not know why he had done it. Curiosity, perhaps. Desperation to feel something for someone other than Miss Hale. Desperation to feel anything at all other than hopelessness.

It was wrong; it had felt wrong the moment their lips had touched. It was a mere peck on the lips yet it haunted him. At the time, it had felt as though he were being untrue to Margaret, though she had never shown the slightest inclination that she cared for him. When he had returned home, he had cursed himself over and over for his impulsive action, realising it entangled him further with Ann when he knew his heart was not in it. He had never kissed Ann again - indeed, he had stopped spending any time alone with her at all after that.

"I did."

Ann looked at him thoughtfully. She had a kind face, John thought. If a woman like Fanny had been in a situation such as this, he was sure there would be an almighty row and a slap on the face. Ann was measured, reasonable even. He was not sure what he had been expecting but it was not such generosity.

"I have not told a soul about that day, I swear it. Things seemed to change between us after that day. You were distant, even more than you had always been. I could never get through to you - your mind was always elsewhere. I attributed it to your financial stresses - Fanny told me about them, do not blame my father. He did not breathe a word."

John scoffed; though he had thought it would be her father warning her away from him, it did not surprise him that his sister had been loose tongued about his troubles. She did not understand the meaning of the word discretion.

"It doesn't matter who told you, everyone around here knew of it. I suppose it was both my money worries and something else, I was too consumed by the mill to come and explain things to you properly. I was wrong. I behaved churlishly. I can only apologise."

Ann nodded, seemingly accepting his apology. He was grateful for that; she did not have to. Indeed, she was speaking to him with great kindness and decorum. She was a reasonable woman, polite and thoughtful. It escaped him why she was such great friends with Fanny, who was none of those things.

"I hope you and Miss Hale are very happy together. I mean that truthfully; you're a good man John." Ann sighed. "Would you be so good as to answer one question for me? Please, do not tell Miss Hale that I asked you this question - or indeed that I have spoken to you so frankly. I should be ashamed if anyone were to know I had been so bold, but I do so because we have spoken so often in the past and I know that we understand each other at least a little. I must ask - did you ever care for me?"

John hesitated. He did not know the proper way to answer; he did not wish to hurt Ann's feelings yet at the same time he could not lie.

"I valued the time we spent together. You were pleasant company and I am sure I was not." John told her. "I must admit - I hope that this would go no further than you and I, as I will keep your confidence in return. I feel I owe you an explanation - I must admit that I had feelings for Miss Hale long before you and I ever stepped out together."

Ann nodded. Her face was set in stone, impossible to read. She had a serene quality about her, as though nothing bothered her. He supposed it was a mark of her breeding and expensive foreign education.

"I could tell. When we saw her that day at the Exhibition, you looked at her in a way that I had never seen before. It was quite extraordinary. I wished you would look at me like that, just once." Her voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, her cheeks flushing.

"I am sorry. I am not proud of my poor behaviour, and I am sorry if I have hurt you in any way."

Ann thought for a moment - then, her face gave way to a small smile. She nodded her head, and John thought she looked as though she was trying not to laugh. He had never quite understood Ann Latimer. She stood up from the window seat, walking over to him and offering him her hand.

"Thank you. Let us part friends, Mr Thornton. I am glad you have found someone who will make you happy. I suppose we are not so well matched; I never could make you smile. When I said Margaret's name just now, your face seemed to light up. I could never do that."

John shook her hand with both of his, holding them there for a moment in thanks. She had shown him true kindness, true sincerity. She owed him nothing, yet she had given him forgiveness. She hastily removed her hand from his grip, her eyes cast downwards.

"I am sorry if I treated you wrongly. I had heard that you were on the brink of your own engagement." John said.

Ann frowned, looking at him in confusion.

"Oh? I think perhaps that was my cousin Phillip from Lancashire, who visited us last month. The rumour mill really is insatiable!" Ann said. "I am sure my time will come, but as of now - I have no suitor."

John nodded. He was unsure of what to say; this whole conversation made him feel deeply uncomfortable. Men and women were not usually so honest with each other (though Margaret had always spoken her mind) and he did not want to cause Ann further offence by being too familiar.

"I am sorry if I have caused any damage to your reputation. It was never my intention to mislead you or cause you any upset."

"I do not think my reputation has been damaged as such. I think instead people feel rather sorry for me. I am not sure what is worse; I do not wish to be a subject of pity, especially when there really is no need for it."

"I thought you would be furious with me."

"What would be the point of that?" Ann asked, cocking her head to the side. "I could hate you, but I expect you and I will still see each other socially. It would be pointless to be terrified of seeing you, and surely to become enemies would only fuel any scandal surrounding us. Fanny is my dearest friend, and I expect Margaret will be present at our future social engagements."

"I suppose she will be."

"I was on my way to your sister's house for tea, as it happens. Will your fiancée be joining us?" Ann asked.

"I don't think so, not today. She's got a lot to be getting on with today. She's just moved into new accomodation so as you can imagine there is much to do."

"Very well. Thank you for speaking with me, Mr Thornton. I appreciate your courtesy in allowing me to clarify the matter."

She walked to the door and opened it. Mr Latimer was leaning on the wall opposite, and Ann kissed his cheek, bidding him farewell. Her father came back into the room, looked John up and down slowly.

"Let's get back to business, shall we?"

John left Latimer a little after five, having spent far longer combing over every aspect of the financial situation he was in than he had intended. Latimer had not mentioned Ann again, and the air seemed to have cleared. The relief John felt was tangible; one less thing to worry about.

Walking home through the busy streets, John felt eyes on his back. There had always been a little gossip about him; first, when his father had died. That had been hard to bear for his mother, who loathed tittle tattle. Then when he had risen to success - speculation about what nice Milton girl would be lucky enough to marry him. Then, as the years had passed and the only thing he was married to was the mill, there had been questions as to why a handsome man such as John Thornton was unwed. There was no winning.

Success to John had always meant sacrifice. The truth was that he did not mind it. He loved his work, he was driven by an unending desire to do his best in all things. Before he had met Margaret, he had been too busy to think of women. Men had tried to introduce their daughters to him but found that John Thornton only wanted to speak of cotton. It consumed him; sometimes even his dreams were just a canvas of white, a snowstorm of fluff.

He continued walking, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him as he strode on. He was stopped by a tap on his arm. He turned to see who had interrupted his pace, and was most please indeed to find Margaret, shawl round her shoulders and her trusty hat on her head, nodding her head to him in greeting.

"Mr Thornton."

"Miss Hale." John tipped his hat to her. "Where are you going? I did not expect to see you in this part of town."

"I needed to go and order some new bed linen. I quite forgot about it. I have never run my own household before and I suppose it is easy overlook some things. Dixon is out fetching other things with a list as long as her arm."

"Margaret, this is absurd. Just come back and live with us." John protested, feeling as though he was just repeating himself endlessly to try and make her see the sense in his argument.

"Mr Thornton." Margaret said pointedly. "There really is no need for me to stay with you before we are married. I am quite capable of living alone."

"Where are you going now?" John asked, not wishing to fight about it when he knew he would never triumph against Margaret's iron will.

"I was going to go to the mill to get a start on the school room. We agreed upon it earlier, did we not? I was running late so I am glad to see you here."

"Then let us walk together." He offered her his arm and she slipped hers through. They walked in silence for a few minutes. John broke it. "I have had a productive afternoon."

"I am glad of it." Margaret said with a smile. "What did you do?"

"I went to see Mr Latimer to discuss business. He seems most enthusiastic about it all, he seems to think I might have a fighting chance of getting back on my feet after all. While I was there, I spoke to his daughter."

Margaret's arm stiffened against his.

"Is she well?" Margaret asked eventually.

"Quite well. I owed her an apology, as I think you well know."

"Yes, you did. Were you - were you truthful?" Margaret asked hesitantly.

John knew that she was referring back to their argument a few days ago, and his confession that he had socialised with Ann with the ulterior motive of inciting some kind of jealousy in Margaret.

"I did not tell her I spent so much time with her to try and make you jealous, no." John said in a low voice. "I did not think that would be helpful."

"Good. No, that part of the story would not mend any fences." Margaret said. "I hope you will never tell anyone that. It was sorry behaviour and you know I was furious about it."

"I know. Ann was kind to me, she was most gracious in her acceptance of my apology."

"You behaved so badly I'm sure you not deserve it!" Margaret said rather shockingly, and when John looked at her face he was surprised to see her trying not to laugh.

"Are you teasing me?"

"I should not, because I am still cross with you. But I cannot help it - there is something about you that stops me for being cross for too long."

"I shall remind you of that once we are married." He said with a smile.

His fingers stroked the length of her forearm, not caring who saw such an intimate gesture. He loved her with a passion he could not quite place, he felt a need for her that he had never felt before. He looked at her, her face looking straight ahead, the gentle curve of her chin giving way to the pale skin of her neck. He knew then, though he had known for many months, that he would love her forever.

They walked to the school room. Margaret unlocked it, the pride on her face evident. John knew that feeling; there was nothing like having the keys to something that was yours. Indeed, this whole place was hers really but she did not wish to be reminded of that. This tiny shed that he'd never done anything with was hers to use and do as she chose.

John was struck then by how different it was to be a woman. Margaret had never owned anything before, and though her parents had been more allowing of her spirit than most would be, she had still never had complete free will to make her own decisions. In the last few days, she had broken free of all expectations. Seeing her face as she looked around the dark and dusty room, John understood the risks she had taken. The enormity of her decision to come home with him, to declare that she did not care what her family thought of the whole thing.

"I love you, Margaret Hale." He said firmly.

She turned to look at him, her eyes soft.

"I love you. Now, help me clear all of this or we will never be sorted by the time the mill reopens!"

"You're an ambitious woman." John told her.

"I hardly think it a grand ambition to wish to educate children. Indeed, I do not know if I will be any good at all at it, but I shall never know if I do not try."

"Have you told anyone of your plans?"

"I was hoping you would be able to tell your workers. When you speak to them, just mention that there is a provision to teach their children. That is all, you do not need to say anything else."

"I don't know, Margaret. They will think I am up to something. This is your venture, not mine."

"Please, John."

He sighed heavily.

"Right enough, I'll mention it. Only once, mind." He told her, attempting to look stern. Though it came easily to him, he found it impossible be too hard on Margaret - though he wasn't sure she would take him seriously anyway.

"Once will be plenty. Thank you, darling."

"I'll get rid of all this for you." He gestured to the rusting bits of machinery that littered the room. "Then we can move the tables. I'll be working late tonight so I'll walk you home after dinner."

"Thank you." Margaret said with a smile. "That is very kind of you. I do not want to be a burden."

"It is no burden to make sure you are safe. Make sure all your doors are locked fast. I do not like you being alone in a house with only Dixon for company. Not when so many are out of work and desperate for anything they can sell. There was a spate of robberies not two month ago, and that was before the mill closed."

Margaret shook her head, frowning with concern. It was true that things had taken a turn for the worse recently, and the robberies were only the start. John had heard reports of unrest in the poorer areas of the city, and the magistrates had been clogged with cases of petty violence. It was only a matter of time before it spilled over into other areas.

"I did not know things were so bad. I will sleep with the poker from the fire by my side if it eases your mind, love. Though I fear if any burglar should see Dixon in her nightgown he would get quite a fright!"

"Still. Be careful. The sooner we are married and back under the same roof the better in my mind."

John's mind wandered a little then, to the thought of Margaret being beside him as they slept. It was a thought that he had forbidden before, but now..well, it was rather nice to think of it.

"Do not worry so much! Now, are you helping me Sir or merely watching?" Margaret asked, her hands firmly on her hips.

John brushed the hair from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He looked at her with such love as he had never felt, so thankful for the thousandth time that week that she was standing in front of him at all after such an unlikely reunion.

"You were born to be a Master's wife."

A/N: To my A03 readers - just so you know, this is always updated first on ff.net, I keep forgetting to add the latest chapters here, sorry!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret and John set a date for their wedding.

The days passed quickly. Margaret hardly saw John; he was shut away in the mill from morning to night making sure that everything was in place for the was relieved to find out when she walked past the mill that he had at least had the good sense to call in his foremen and overlookers early to assist him. When she did see him for a few moments, mostly in passing as she worked on her school room, he was so distracted that he could hardly participate in any kind of conversation.

Margaret kept herself busy in her new little home; it felt strange to reside somewhere that was truly hers. Even if it was only to be for a few weeks, it filled her with some kind of strange pride. All her life, she had been told what to do, where to be, how to behave. In her own home, there were no such orders. Dixon watched her with a strange face, thinking Miss Margaret had gone quite mad.

Margaret had spent hours mending things that needed it; the curtains were almost threadbare, so she sat by the fire repairing their linings with care. She had even stitched her initial into her bed linen, though there would not be much need for anything that said MH in a few weeks. It felt nice to have a place to call her own, even it was just for a little while. More than nice, in fact.

John had sent her a letter on Saturday, sent round with one of the servants, asking that she attend church with his family. Margaret smiled when she opened it, though his handwriting was rushed and ink splattered the paper.

The Sunday morning, the day before the Mill opened, the Thorntons, the Watsons, Margaret and Dixon went to church. Margaret sat away from John - he at one end of the pew, she at the other by one of the large pillars of the church. She sat next to Fanny, wincing a little at her shrill singing voice as they sang hymns as a congregation.

After the service was over, John had sought out the vicar to arrange the wedding. Margaret had told him to choose any date that suited him and the mill. Weddings took place on working days, at around nine in the morning. This would mean that the mill would either have to be closed or run without him for the day. They had decided, together, that as the reception would take place at the Thornton's home, it would be best for the mill to close for one day. John decided he would pay the workers for that missed day, as a gesture of goodwill and of thanks.

While John spoke with the vicar, Margaret stood with her future family outside the church. She was distracted, wondering what was taking John so long. Fanny whinged that she wanted to go home and lie down, claiming that having walked the short distance from her house to church had exhausted her.

John eventually emerged from the church, a small smile on his face.

"Monday, July the nineteenth, nine o'clock sharp. The banns will be read here and in Helstone in the coming weeks, once each parish has agreed we are legally free to wed."

Hannah and Fanny worried that it would not be enough time - indeed, how could a suitable wedding dress be made so quickly? It was already the end of May, which left a little over six weeks for it all to be arranged.

"I do not wish for anything extravagant." Margaret told them for what felt like the thousandth time. They began walking out of the churchyard, the women in front and the men behind. Dixon decided she would go and visit her mistress's grave. "I saw many beautiful designs in London but I have decided I would be happiest with something I already have, made in a different fabric. That will take less time, I have spoken with the dressmaker who is in agreement."

"It does not seem right to get married in something so plain." Fanny said, aghast.

Margaret had to suppress a laugh at the carelessness of Fanny's words, reminding herself that surely she did not mean it to come across as it did.

"It will be special no matter how simple, for it will be my wedding gown." Margaret told her. "Anything else can be arranged easily, no?"

Mrs Thornton made a funny little noise.

"There speaks a woman who's never organised a social engagement in her life. We'll manage it, but you've not left us much time. The invitations must be sent to the printer as quickly as we can manage, I'll need a list of names from you Margaret. The pair of you have chosen a funny time to have such a quick wedding, what with the mill to contend with."

"That is my business to worry about, not Margaret's." John interjected, growing bored with the talk of weddings already. "The three of you are more than capable of planning it, I would only get in the way."

"I just hope you have left us enough time, John. I do not want folk to think the wedding is being rushed for - other reasons."

Margaret's face burned.

"Enough of that, Mother." John snapped. "Can we not walk a little quicker? I have much to do. Margaret, come."

Though Margaret did not appreciate being beckoned like a dog, she looped her arm through John's crooked elbow and walked at a quicker pace with him. Anything to escape Fanny's snide comments and implications of sin from his mother. Margaret was trying hard to mend any bad feeling that lay between the three of them, but it felt like a battle she would never win.

"Are you quite alright?" Margaret asked when they were far enough away from the others that they would not hear.

John's mouth was set in a tight line, his eyes staring straight ahead. He walked at such speed that he almost dragged her along as she tried to match his steps. She tugged on his arm, willing him to slow down. He did, a little, though Margaret still had to make three steps for each one of his.

"Aye, I am fine. Preoccupied, that's all. Perhaps we should have waited until October after all."

"Come John, let's not get into this same old conversation again. We do not have to have an extravagant wedding if there is no cause for it, I do not mind."

"Nonsense. Financially I can afford it now I'm using the loan to clear my outstanding debts and restart the mill, that is not the problem. I know you are sensible and will not ruin me for the sake of one day. I am just not sure I can stand Fanny's fussing for six weeks."

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Margaret asked. "I have heard much chatter from your workers, I went to visit Nicholas and Mary yesterday."

"You went alone?" John asked.

"Yes, I did." Margaret said. "As I always do."

"It isn't safe."

"They know me there. I was quite safe. I was stopped by at least twenty different women offering me their congratulations which made it almost impossible to get there, but I was perfectly fine. Nicholas says workers will be lining up to secure their place, they are so desperate to be under your employ."

"That's what I'm worried about. I have already told Higgins that I cannot take them all back at once. I don't want there to be arguments or fighting. If it isn't properly managed there will be chaos, and I can't have that hanging over me before I'm even open. I have a list of men I thought would be coming back that Higgins gave me but I need more than I originally thought what with the orders I've secured. Just not the same number as before, not yet anyway."

"Surely they will understand that you cannot take them all?"

"They haven't had work for a good many weeks now. The other mills barely had any spots to fill, I'd say not ten men managed to find other manufacturing work. You know what things are like when they are desperate."

Margaret thought for a moment.

"Then pay them."

John looked at her as though she were quite mad.

"What? How can I pay them when they have done no work?"

"Perhaps not the full amount, but something to reassure them of their place at the factory, to tell them that they will have fully paid work once more when things have settled down. Then they will be more inclined to keep the peace; they will have money to buy food for a week, it will ease their worries."

"The other masters will have my head, offering wages for nothing in return."

"You are not poaching their workers, you would only offer the financial benefit to those who have worked for you before. I cannot see the problem in that. In return for your faith in them, you will have loyalty. Is that not what you have always seen the value in? I heard you speak to Father often of how much you did to encourage longevity in your employees. I trust you have a full list of those who worked for you at the time of the closure?"

"Aye, of course I do. It's all on the payroll, with exactly what they were paid per week."

"Then check their names off against that and offer them a percentage of their wages." Margaret said with a shrug.

"Margaret, this seems an insane thing to do. You make it sound so simple but it is not. How much money will I have spent on useless wages before we have even fulfilled a single order?"

"I do not know much about business, it is true. It just seems that perhaps, just this once, it would be a good thing to spend a little money you might not see back. People will understand you are back in business and are intending to return to what you were. It might give them a little confidence that it is worth waiting to be employed at Marlborough Mills."

"How would I get the money on such short notice? It is impossible, Margaret. Even a weeks wages for every worker runs into three figures. I do not know how long it will be before I am at full capacity again, it could be weeks. Months, even."

"Perhaps it is a rather ambitious idea." Margaret said. "And perhaps it is all a little too short notice. If you could somehow promise the money to them.."

John shook his head. Margaret felt a strange kind of embarrassment in her chest. Was what she was suggesting really such an unachievable goal? It had come to her suddenly and now she wished that she'd thought it through a little more before suggesting it to John. Everything he did was so measured, so carefully considered. She knew that she lacked that quality, she tended to speak before she had thought everything through.

"I do not have the money myself yet, that will come later this week. I'm not saying it's a bad idea - I can certainly see the logic in it. I just - what do I do if a worker does not honour their word? They'd take my money and I'd not see them for dust."

Margaret thought on this; it was certainly a risk that someone would take advantage of such a scheme. Though Mr Thornton valued loyalty, she was not so naive to believe that all men placed such importance on it.

"Perhaps they should sign some kind of agreement. An agreement that keeps them bound to you and to Marlborough Mills."

"I would need a hundred of the damn things by morning, Margaret. It is all much too complicated, I've less than a day until they will be there beating the door down."

"Then tell them of your plans tomorrow and see if they are in agreement. Give them the money on payday, like everyone else. Perhaps go and see Nicholas, he is the unionist. I am sure he would soon tell you whether or not it is an absurdity."

"You've given me something to think about, certainly. What a mind you have, Miss Hale."

Margaret smiled at that; she was glad he had listened to her. It was an idea she had not given much thought to, but she trusted John enough to feel free to speak her mind even when an idea was not fully formed.

"Perhaps you are right, it is not a realistic idea."

"There might be something in it." John countered, his eyes still set straight ahead. "I'll think on it this afternoon."

They walked on towards Margaret's house in silence. Margaret did not turn her head, assuming that the rest of John's family were still behind them. She looked up at John, wondering what he was thinking. His lips moved slightly, talking to himself. His eyes looked weary, grey shadows beneath them.

"You look tired, love."

"I'm quite well." John said wearily; Margaret suspected he was more tired of being told he looked exhausted.

"Try and rest tonight. Do you need help with anything tomorrow?"

"No, no it is all managed. I should like to see you after the working day is done, come for dinner with us. Don't open up your school room during working hours tomorrow, it'll be chaos in the yard all day."

"I won't. I have an idea to go and visit the boy's school, to see how the lessons are conducted tomorrow."

"Will they let you?" John asked.

It was true the last time she had been to the boy's school the headmaster had been a little less than welcoming. However, the majority of teachers there were women and Margaret was secretly hoping to catch one of them to enquire after some advice. It may not be well met - she could but try.

"I can only ask." Margaret shrugged. "The headmaster did not seem to like me much, it is true."

"I know the man, Mr West isn't it? I don't think he likes anyone much. You'd best stay out of his way, he's not a patient sort of man."

"Very well, perhaps I should look elsewhere for instruction on how to teach." Margaret agreed. "I wonder if there is a book I could read

Their steps slowed as they reached Margaret's home. The rest of their party had drifted away back. They were alone; Margaret was surprised Mrs Thornton had left them without a chaperone. Perhaps Fanny had dragged her away to look at baby clothes in the window of the closed drapers.

"I suppose this is goodbye then." Margaret said as they walked up the steps to her front door. "The next time I see you you shall be Master of Marlborough Mills once again."

"Aye, I suppose I shall. Margaret, I need to ask you a favour. You may not agree, but I must beg you - stay inside tomorrow morning. Do not venture on one of your walks, do not send Dixon on any errands."

"John-"

John took her hands in his, standing square to her. He looked into her eyes, unflinching.

"Margaret. Don't argue with me about this. I cannot promise there will not be unrest, so I'm asking that you and Dixon both stay inside until things are clearer. I know you think you know best, but just - I cannot be worrying about you on top of everything else."

"I think you are thinking the worst of them." Margaret told him. "They are not so bad, they wouldn't cause trouble for you."

"I think I know my workers, Margaret. You may be of the opinion that I am out of touch with them and think that they are all animals, but that is not true. I think they are human. I understand their minds, I know - I know first hand what hunger does to a man, the fear that comes from not having enough coin in your pocket to last you a week. They will be desperate, and with desperation there comes a lack of clarity of the mind. Please, trust me on this. Stay at home tomorrow."

His comments about hunger struck her. John had never gone into detail about the period of time after his father died. All Margaret knew is that he had worked hard to pay any man his father was indebted to, and that as a result the family had little for many years. The Hales were not a wealthy family, but Margaret did not know what it was to go without. There had always been food on the table, coal for the fire and oil for the lamp. The look on John's face - he understood hunger all too well.

"I will." Margaret conceded. "I will but I pray that you are worrying over nothing."

"I hope the same, of course. You think I want a fight?" He asked, stepping back.

Margaret held her hand out to him, concerned she had offended him. He took it, stepping closer again. They seemed to misunderstand each other still, just as they did before they had become engaged.

"No, no, of course not. I should go inside, your mother will wonder where you are. The best of luck, Mr Thornton."

He looked around to see if anyone was watching the pair of them. It was early, and people were still either at church or in their own homes. The street was empty, and John took a deep breath and kisses Margaret square on the lips. She squeaked a little, having been expecitng him to peck her on the cheek - even such an innocent kiss would have been a scandal all on its own should they be seen.

"John!" She whispered. "I think perhaps such affection should be saved for when we are alone."

"The street is empty." He murmured, stroking a finger along her jawline. "But you're right. I needed it, I am sorry. Something to give me courage."

She looked at him, his face close enough to see the way his forehead creased as he frowned, the lines by his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Margaret raised her hand to his face, running her fingertips along the stubble that was on his chin. He watched her curiously, as they caressed one another's faces in a way that was most unsuitable behaviour whilst standing on a doorstop for anyone to see.

"Then kiss me again, for extra courage." Margaret smiled.

John did not wish to sleep, though the clock had chimed midnight half an hour ago. He sat at the desk he kept in his bedroom, pouring over accounts that he had already read dozens of times. Nothing could be left to chance, he must try and predict every risk, every complication.

It was impossible, of course. The cotton trade relied on so many different things; good growth of the cotton crop, which grew thousands of miles away from Milton under the Egyptian sun. Then there would need to be people to pick it, more to pack it to send it to the ports. Then, the ships must sail on time with fair seas. Once the cotton landed on English shores, there must be men to get it to MIlton, the trains must run to time, there must be men to unload it at the mill.

If one of those components should go wrong, just one, it made all the difference. Orders would go out late, or unfulfilled. John did his best to keep his end up - he had to run an efficient and ordered mill. Each one of his workers had to do their part, each machine had to run well.

John felt like a juggler sometimes, desperately trying to keep each ball in the air without dropping them to the floor.

He rubbed at his eyes, not willing to admit that he was so weary he felt like he might collapse. His thoughts were jumbled, unclear. Standing up, he undressed ready for bed. To sleep now felt like defeat - there was so much more that needed to be done.

He walked to his window, looking out into the darkness. The moon shone down on the mill below, the sheds looming before him in the silver light. Tomorrow there would be noise from the sheds once more, there would be men in the yard. He could not let them down again; he would not be given a third chance.

John thought, as he so often did, of Margaret. She would be long asleep, alone save for Dixon in that funny little house of hers. He yearned to have her here, asleep in his bed where he could watch over her. He wanted nothing more than to lie beside her, to hear the steady pace of her breathing.

John paced the floor, his mind unfocused. He settled on his knees by the bed. Though he attended church, John did not consider himself to be particularly pious. He had stopped his nightly devotions when he was a child at school, not seeing the point in kneeling every night talking to someone he could not see. However, in the early hours of that Monday morning, he clasped his hands together, closed his eyes and prayed.

He prayed for prosperity, that he might succeed in his business pursuits. He prayed for the health of his family; that Mother might continue in her strong constitution, that Fanny would give birth to a healthy baby and rise out of childbed in good health. He prayed that Margaret would always have good health and luck - and that he might be a good husband to her. He prayed for his father's soul.

When he could think of nothing else to pray for, he slipped beneath the heavy burgundy damask covers of his bed, blowing out the last candle that flickered beside his bed. He closed his eyes, certain that sleep would not be kind to him that night.

He opened his eyes, and turned to see the time on the small carriage clock that rested on his nightstand. Four in the morning. He had managed a little sleep after all.

He sprang out of bed, suddenly free of the uncharacteristic melancholy that had plagued him these past few weeks. In truth, part of him felt like a child on Christmas morn, eager to see what the day would bring.

"Almost time, Master." Williams said, looking at his pocket watch.

The pair of them were in John's office, rather than the yard. John had been there since half past four, looking over everything that could possibly be looked over. It was nearly six now, close to the time he expected his workers to arrive.

"Aye, it is. Come on, no good sitting in here while the rabble wait at the gates."

John walked out into the yard, standing a distance back as Williams opened the gates. A few of the overseers stood nearby, all bracing themselves for whatever was about to happen.

Higgins was the first face that John saw, standing at the front. The workers filed through the gates in a line two men deep, the women on one side and men on the other. John was a little surprised by this; he had not been expecting such order.

Higgins broke free of the line, walking over to his master.

"Mornin', Master."

"You're all very orderly this morning Higgins." John said, looking at his pocket watch. "Punctual too."

"What did you expect Master? A riot?" Higgins asked with a hint of humour. "I've explained to them what the situation is, that you can't take us all back at once. No use causin' havoc when there's no good that'll come of it. We're no fools."

"Yet they all came." John said, watching as the yard filled up with far more than the fifty odd workers he had places for. "Why?"

"They want their jobs back, and they believe that you will have space for them soon enough. I've taken down all their names." He took a rolled up parchment, far thicker than the one he'd given last week. "So you've a record of who were here on the first day. You can pick who you need today and turn rest away."

"My, my, you are organised. When did you have time to do all this?" John asked, opening the roll and reading through the scratchily written names.

"I've been collectin' names all week, ever since you came to see me and told me of your plans." Higgins said. "Been to every house."

"You didn't have to do that." John said, surprised at the effort Nicholas Higgins had been to when he had not been asked to do such a thing. It was an astounding gesture.

"I didnae, but it weren't like I had much else to do." Higgins shrugged. "We've made a pact to pay into union again 'till everyone's back at work. We workers stick together, no matter if its a strike fund or just hard times."

John shook his head. The other master's had forbidden their workers for paying into a strike fund, and John wouldn't set a precedent for it happening again. A fund for unemployed mill workers was one thing, but what if that lapsed back into strike preparations? Margaret was right; he had to do something.

"There's no need for you to pay into the union, you know it isn't allowed. I want to offer something to the workers who cannot start back right away." John told him, earning a raised eyebrow from Higgins.

"Other masters won't thank you fer it."

John shook his head.

"Maybe they won't, but I want workers who are fit for the work I need 'em to do, not half starved. A little money now will make sure they have strong bodies when I need them. Pray God that will be soon, no more than three or four weeks. No use reopening and having all the women folk too weak for the looms."

"How much?" Higgins asked.

John thought; he had done some rough sums the night before so had some figures in mind. It was a little less than half what he paid each person; he thought it was a reasonable amount.

"Five shillings per week for the men, two-and-nine-pence for the women, one-and-five for the children. Just the ones who were employed by me before, mind. I'll be checking your list against my own."

"You think it's enough?"

Higgins was bold, he'd give him that. John knew the union paid five shillings a week, he'd heard it through the other masters. Yet Higgins had the bare faced cheek to question it, thinking that John would not know exactly what was paid during the strike. He was a damn smart man, that Higgins.

"It's what I'm offering. They can take it or leave it, no odds to me. I'll find others to take their place when I need them, without the extra expense." John turned to walk away.

"They'll take it." Higgins said quickly. "Thank you, Master."

"For today I'll take the men you told me about when I closed, plus twenty women and five children. I'll see where we are at the end of the week about hiring more."

"Any preference as to who?" Higgins asked.

John looked over at the mass of men and women. He had no real preference so long as whoever was chosen worked hard and came to work on time. These first few weeks would be tough; he needed the most reputable workers. Williams would be able to sort the wheat from the chaff.

"Let Williams decide. I've got work to do, as do all of you."

Higgins nodded.

"Yes Master."

He turned back to return to the workers and pass on what the master had told him. John stopped him.

"Oh and Higgins?"

"Yes Master?" Higgins said, bracing himself.

"Good to have you back."

John walked to his office with a small smile. Shut away in his office working on the details of the payment to the workers, the sound of mill machinery roaring to life mixed with the yelling of the workers over the noise began to fill his ears. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

John Thornton was back in business.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters arrive for John and Margaret.

The arrival of summer brought with it an unexpected surge of heat from the continent. The early days of June were bathed in sunlight, though Midsummer had not truly started yet. Folk could not remember a time the sun had shone so brightly over Milton. The whole country, from the sunny coast of Cornwall to the industrial town of Carlisle on the Scottish Borders , sweltered in temperatures that were most unusual for late May and June. The continent itself had been experiencing even harsher conditions, with temperatures soaring by the day; the combined situations meant that Marlborough Mills suddenly welcomed an influx of orders.

More workers were employed thanks to the sudden clamouring for cotton clothing for what was predicted to be an insufferably hot summer. By the Summer Solstice, Marlborough Mills had employed every man, woman and child. John could not have predicted such a miracle, yet he was thankful for it. It might not last, it might have been foolish to take them all back so quickly but for now, he needed them.

One consequence of such unexpected success was that he had hardly seen Margaret. She was busy in her own way, preparing her school room, but he was aware she had been to see him many times to find him out or busy. Word had got out amongst the workers about Margaret's venture into education and to John's (and his mother's) surprise, there was a definite spark of interest amongst the workers about the chance for their children to receive a free education.

"I knew that at least some would partake." Margaret told him one evening as they walked together on the hill above the city. It was wonderful to see so high above, watching Milton begin to settle for the night, bathed in the hazy dusk light. "But I have had thirty names put down already! I am a little overwhelmed, what if I am not up to the task? I do not know how to teach!"

John almost laughed at that. She might have thought a little more of the details before she rushed ahead to begin the school room! Margaret was a natural with children, she had a natural empathy that held her in good stead. Of course, she would need a little more skill than that to pass on any knowledge. John knew she had been visiting the local school to observe the lessons whenever she could, so he was sure she must be a little more prepared than she was making out to be.

"You'll learn. A B C seems a good place to start." John said. "Few of them will know how to read or even how to hold a pencil, you'll need to start with the basics. One of Higgins' rabble, Tom, he can read. I don't know about the rest. Most of my workers can't."

"Tom is getting better at reading every day. He read me a bible passage yesterday in the clearest voice, no stuttering at all even over the tricky parts. Though I could hardly hear over the noise his sisters were making, tearing the house." Margaret said with a soft laugh, stopping to look out at the view over Milton. "Gosh, I am so hot."

She sat down abruptly, not caring that it was most unladylike for one to sit on the ground. Her large skirt billowed around her as she closed her eyes against the evening sun that shone in her eyes. John looked around; there was nobody in sight. She looked beautiful as the light hit her face, and he did not want to leave. He sat beside her, draping his arm over her shoulders. She leaned into him, her hand reaching up to clasp the hand resting on her shoulder. They had had such little time together that these snatched moments of quiet intimacy had become even more precious than they had been before.

"I did not realise you went there so often." John said in surprise; truthfully, he knew little of how she passed her days.

"I have some free time in the day. I thought I would call in on them while Nicholas and Mary were at work. Six children without proper supervision can cause so much trouble, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Yet you found them reading the bible." John said with a raised eyebrow.

Margaret looked up at him, a rather sheepish smile on her face. John felt as though he would burst with love for her then. He brushed a strand of hair that had come loose away from her eyes, relishing the way she caught his hand and pressed a quick, impulsive kiss to his knuckles. Laughing at her own distraction, she continued their conversation.

"Well, when I arrived I found Tom outside in the street poking a dead pigeon with a stick." Margaret admitted with a wry smile.

Other than a few snatched moments together, there had really been very little time to spend together. Margaret had come to dinner most nights, but John found himself apologising and going back to work once the meal was finished. Sometimes he would walk her home, other times he would send her in a cab, cursing himself that he had left her alone.

One Tuesday morning in the last, sweltering days of June, there was a knock at the door. It was his mother.

"Post for you, John."

She walked over to his desk, placing a small rectangular package and a brown envelope in front of him. John did not look up, busy looking through the payroll for that week. The numbers and names stretched out before him, and he had both a sense of pride and dread at the full roster of employees that he held in his hand.

"I'll look at it later."

His mother did not leave. She had been most helpful these past few weeks, her watchful eye never leaving the factory. John wondered if she was feeling threatened by Margaret, as it seemed she was even more zealous than she had been before in her role. He had heard the whispers from the workers that they were afraid of his mother. This did not bother him; it did the workers good to know that any slacking would not be tolerated, and his mother was not a violent or vindictive person. She would not be needlessly harsh on anybody, it was not in her character.

"That parcel is addressed to Margaret, at our address. Both came from the same place. A Cadiz postmark on both the letter and the parcel. Must have cost a pretty penny to send a parcel so far."

John looked up.

"A letter for me from Cadiz?" He asked. His mother nodded. "The letter is from Cadiz?"

His mother narrowed her eyes a little at his needless repetition of an already redundant question.

"Yes John, are we going to go round in circles all day?"

John knew that the letter would be from Frederick Hale, the man he knew very little about yet cared so much about what the letter might say. John had never felt such apprehension at receiving a letter from a stranger; he corresponded with strangers every day. Yet this was not an order for cotton.

"Margaret's brother lives in Cadiz. These must be from him. I wonder what he has to say." John murmured, half to himself, as he took the envelope from his mother. "Margaret wrote to him to tell him of the engagement, but I did not think he'd write to me."

His mother shrugged.

"I'm sure he wishes to offer his congratulations, nothing more. I'm off to see Fanny, she wants me to look at a catalogue of baby things she has had sent to her from London. God help Watson when he realises how much this baby is going to cost him."

John had hardly seen his sister; she had had little appetite and did not come for dinner. By all accounts, now that she had announced the news of her pregnancy she was almost unbearable to be around. Every word out of her mouth was about what she would need to buy or what she should dress the baby in. As happy as he was at the prospect of being an uncle, his sister's enthusiasm was beginning to grow a little tedious. It was like a child talking about a doll rather than a mother discussing her baby.

"I'll see you." John said, distracted by the letter in his hand.

This letter came from Margaret's closest family. He stared down at the envelope. His address was written in a looping, clear hand. Frederick's handwriting reminded John of Mr Hale's own. John took his letter opener and tore the back open, taking a deep breath as he unfolded the letter held within.

Mr Thornton - John

I hope you do not mind that I address you informally. Margaret has written to me to tell me that you and I are to be brothers-in-law. I know we have never met properly (perhaps it is best not to count that sorry business as I departed Milton). I do not know what you are like, and you do not know me. I do not even know for sure that Margaret has told you about me as I know how closely she guarded my secret. If she has not told you of me, you must be most confused indeed! I will let her do the explaining, should you need it.

I write to you with the advice I would have given you the night before your wedding, probably over brandy but this shall have to do. Though Margaret tells me your wedding will not be until October, I thought it best to send you it now - so you can think on it! I am at the mercy of the postal system, so I hope this has found its way to you in time as it can be a little unreliable.

Be kind - I find men are not encouraged to be kind, but it really is a most valuable quality. Marriages can be tricky at first. It is not often spoken about, in fact I found that the realities of marriage are often ignored for talk of weddings instead! Two people thrown into close proximity, often not knowing each other well at all - it can all be rather confusing at first. If you are not kind to each other, if you are not patient and willing to learn, your life will not be an easy one.

I remember the first argument Dolores and I had, around two months into our marriage, it was quite absurd really. I did not like sleeping with the window open (it was Autumn and really not so hot), but she insisted on it. I got bitten by the most enormous mosquito and we dissolved into a long and very loud argument about who was at fault for the incredible red lump on my forehead!

The next day we purchased a mosquito net to hang over our bed and the window remains open at all times - make of that what you will!

You will have arguments, I can say that with certainty. Do not let them gnaw away at you, settle any disputes as quickly and as painlessly as you can. There are plenty of times that are not always romantic or wonderful, but it does not make marriage any less meaningful. I would not be without Dolores for anything, and I hope that in you Margaret has found a devoted husband.

Look at me talking about marriage as if I have all the answers - I can assure you I do not! It has only been ten months since our wedding, which took place quite quickly after I returned to Spain from England. I learn something new about my wife every day. I did not think it possible, but there you are.

I am sure if my father were alive, his advice to you would be much more coherent and useful. I know you knew him well, so hopefully he imparted some of his wisdom upon you in his life. I know Margaret will be missing our parents bitterly, as I do and have done for many years. It is a comfort to me that you knew my parents, and that they held you in high regard. Please be gentle with our Margaret; she is a strong minded person who takes any trouble in her stride, but I know she will be feeling their losses more keenly than ever.

I am biased as her brother, but Margaret really is the most extraordinary person. Her heart has always been open to those around her, and she tries to see all things fairly. She puts others before herself, and I know that I am so happy for her that she has found a match that seems to make her very happy, and I hope for her sake (and yours, should I catch you!) that you will never do anything to cause her grief. Forgive me for such a bold statement, but as I do not know you I must cover every scenario in case you are a terrible rogue!

I wish you both every luck. I hope to see you in Cadiz, you are always welcome.

Sincerely,

Frederick Hale

John sat back in his chair, the letter still in his hand. It was an unexpectedly friendly letter from a man he had never been introduced to. John has certainly never shown any such warmth to Watson. Indeed, John remembered the day Watson had come to him asking for Fanny's hand as the head of the family. It hadn't been a shock, as such - he'd seen Watson making eyes at Fanny for months. By the time the question had come, John had thought on whether he would give the match his blessing. Fanny seemed happy enough with his attentions. The age difference was fairly significant but Fanny had come to him and asked him to say yes. He had never seen any sign of affection or love between the pair; Fanny never even called her husband by his Christian name as far as one could tell.

John did not truly know what to expect from marriage. He had yearned for Margaret for so long that it had only seemed like a wistful fantasy that would never come to light. Yet now he was faced with the wonderful reality that he and Margaret would be together for the rest of their lives. When he thought about it like that, he felt a jolt of nerves. He swallowed heavily, putting those feelings aside.

He ran his hand over the parcel for Margaret, looking at his pocket watch. It was almost lunchtime; what harm could it do to deliver her a package from her beloved brother? John put his jacket on as propriety demanded, though it was so damned hot out there it felt like a form of torture to wear so many layers.

"I'm off out for a time, I'll be back shortly." John told Williams, who merely nodded.

John walked the short distance to Margaret's house, the streets empty. Those who were not at work were staying at home; it was too hot to be walking around. Cotton clothes could help, but not much if John was entirely truthful. If ladies insisted on wearing so many damned petticoats, there was no helping them.

He rapped on Margaret's door. Dixon answered it, huffing and puffing as she made her way to the door.

"Afternoon, Mr Thornton. Miss Margaret is out at the moment."

"Where has she gone?"

"The Princeton district, I believe. She went a few hours ago."

"To the Boucher children?" John asked, wondering why else she would be there alone in the middle of the working day.

"I would say so, yes. Now if you'll excuse me I've things to do."

John had never known a servant who spoke to people like Dixon did; there were no airs or graces. She was a little above her station and John wondered just what his mother would make of that when Dixon came to the house in just under a month's time.

John said goodbye, though the door closed before he had finished the word, and went back to the Mill. He hadn't the time to be chasing Margaret wherever she was, and he was sure he would be seeing her for dinner that evening. He held the parcel under his arm, wondering what her brother had to say to her.

After the last whistle had blown and the workers had returned to their homes, Margaret walked to Marlborough Mills. She had spent the largest part of the afternoon at home, reading several books she had purchased on the subject of education. She was most determined that her school room should be a success. It had been decided (well, she had decided and told John what she was doing) that the school would officially open the following week. A fair few already had their names down, and Margaret was confident she would have a full class.

She felt a smile on her face that she could not put away. She must have looked quite the fool, walking alone and grinning like a madman! Yet she could not help it. Though she missed seeing John in a more private setting, there was no denying that she was floating on a cloud of happiness. Things seemed to be settling down with the mill and her financial arrangements had all been finalised. She was embarking on a life she had never dreamed of.

"Evening, Miss."

A sudden male voice coming from somewhere behind alarmed her, and Margaret span round to see who was speaking to her. She laughed with breathless relief to see John standing behind her.

"You gave me a fright!"

He chuckled, tipping his hat to her in some sort of apology.

"Sorry love, it was too easy. You're walking along in a world all of your own. You need to be more aware of who's around you."

She took his arm in hers and they walked along the street towards Marlborough Mills. The evening was most pleasant, a breeze blowing in offering some relief from the unrelenting summer heat. The breeze wafted over the smell of smoke that always remained, but Margaret did not mind the dirty air for once.

"I am surprised you have finished for the day. I was expecting to sit with your mother for hours yet."

Margaret had seen Hannah Thornton with far more frequency than she had seen her son. Margaret seemed to spend all of her time waiting for John to finish working, and as a consequence spent many hours sitting in near silence with her future mother in law. As the days passed, they had reached an understanding of each other. They would both sew or knit in silence, but it was a companionable sort of silence. Not unpleasant at all, really.

"I'm not quite finished, I had to take something to the station. I have something for you, in my office. A package came for you today."

"A package?" Margaret asked. "I have not ordered anything."

"It is from Cadiz." John told her.

Margaret was relieved that Fred had sent his response to the news of her engagement. Every passing day with no word from him had filled her with anxiety. Would he be happy for her?

"Oh! I was wondering when Fred would reply to my letter, it has been so many weeks! Can I come with you now and collect it? Though I think I might die of nerves. What if he does not approve of this?"

"He wrote to me." John told her. "I think he alluded that if I hurt you he would hurt me, but he approves the match."

To hear that Fred had written to John pleased her greatly (though she was less than thrilled with Fred's apparent threats, though she was sure they were in jest). It was so strange to her that these two men, who were the most important people in her life, had never been properly introduced. She hoped they would get on well, should they ever meet.

"He does?" Margaret asked, looking up at him with eyes close to tears. "Truly?"

It was more than she had dared to hope for; she felt her worries begin to melt away. It was truly a relief.

"Aye." John nodded. "He's a funny creature, your brother. Reading his letter it was as though I could hear his voice reading it to me, though I have never heard him speak."

"Yes, he's always written like that. He would make you laugh I am sure, if you met him."

"Careful, don't want too many folk round here knowing I have a sense of humour. They might start thinking I'm human after all, and we can't have that."

Margaret followed John to his office, where he handed her the box. Her fingers traced over her address, following the familiar curves of her brother's writing. She sat down in the chair facing John's desk. She toor at the brown wrapping of the parcel, finding inside a box. She opened that first, seeing a folded sheet of paper on top. She unfolded it, feeling a stab of anxiety when she saw that it was a long letter from Frederick. Two pages were linked together with string.

"Do you want to be alone?" He asked.

"No, no it is fine. I shall read it here." Margaret told him.

He nodded, sitting down on the other side of the desk and busying himself with paperwork to allow her privacy. Margaret hesitated before starting to read; she did not know why she was so scared. John had already told her that Fred had given them his blessing, so why did she feel as though she would faint?

My dear Margaret,

How surprised I was to receive your letter. Wait, that isn't right. I wasn't surprised by the content - I have been expecting news from you and Henry Lennox! I suppose it is a good thing I am not a betting man!

I can tell from every word in your letter that you are simply overwhelmed with happiness, and I am so glad for you. So glad indeed! I remember Mr Thornton well - I am not sure a glare like the one I received could ever be forgotten. I hope he is a kinder man than first impressions would have you believe. Father spoke of him fondly, and I trust that Papa would never befriend someone who did not have a most upstanding moral character.

My greatest sorrow is that I will not be by your side when you get married. I felt your absence keenly when Dolores and I wed, and I will not pretend that it was easy to have no family sitting with smiling faces on my side of the church. Know that I will be thinking of you, wishing we were together to celebrate your future life. I am not there to scare my soon-to-be brother-in-law into treating you well - though from the tone of your letter, I am sure he is not capable of doing anything else!

Pay Aunt Shaw no mind. I am sure she will come around to your choice of husband, and I have no doubt that that funny little cousin of ours will be swept up in the romance of it all! You do not need my blessing, sister, but know that I give it to you with love and respect. Please send Mr Thornton my regards - I will send a letter to him as well to congratulate him personally.

I suppose by now Henry would have told you that I do not wish you fight for me any longer. I am sorry I did not write to tell you myself. I am a coward. I think it is for the best that we leave it, let the land settle. This is by no means an admission of guilt or defeat. I would rather be alive in Spain than dead in England, that is the nub of it.

There is another reason I am so keen to live a quiet life - Dolores is quite heavy with child now. I am sorry that I did not tell you sooner, letters take so long to arrive and she was rather unsure of the whole thing. I will not go into details but her pregnancy has not been an easy one, and she did not wish to curse it by telling others the happy news until she was well into her time. The baby is due in July or early August. The heat is already becoming too much for my lovely wife, she will be quite desperate to have the baby by the time the intense August sun is here, I am sure.

I am nervous at the thought of becoming a father, I must confess it. Our own beloved Papa was a gentle, wise man who allowed us our freedoms and wanted us to learn all that there was in the world. I hope to echo at least some of his teachings. We are thinking that we will name the babe Maria for a girl, Ricardo for a boy. Father would probably enjoy having his name sound so exotic! If we do have a girl, she will be one of a dozen Maria's anywhere she goes as the name is rather more popular here than in England!

Dearest Margaret, I have enclosed some beautiful Spanish lace for you, as well as some other favours. Dolores has asked that I send them to you with her kindest wishes and luck for your marriage. It was the lace she wore on our wedding day, and our marriage has certainly been a happy one. She hopes that you will incorporate it into your dress or bouquet and that it will make you feel a tad closer to us, your little family in Spain. She has included another gift for you as well.

Cadiz is a lovely place for a honeymoon, particularly in winter to escape the unrelenting Northern climate. It is considerably cooler in the winter than the summer but it is most pleasant indeed. The sunshine is warm and the wine flows!

All my love, my wonderful sister.

Fred (and Dolores!)

Margaret grinned broadly, a tear dropping from her eye and landing on the paper.

"What's he said?" John asked, looking up.

"I am to be an Aunt." Margaret told him joyfully. "Fred and Dolores are expecting a baby. They want to name the child after mother or father, depending on whether it is a boy or a girl of course."

John smiled. Margaret was astounded that everyone around them seemed to be expecting babies at the same time. She wondered, though she did not voice her wondering out loud, if she and John would welcome their own child not too far behind the rest. It made her cheeks flame red to think of it, though her fiancé did not seem to notice.

"Another one in the family." John remarked. "Did he say much else?"

Margaret's eyes moved to read the passage of the letter where Fred reiterated that he did not wish to be fought for any longer. The realisation that her brother would now never come home to England tore at her. She tried her hardest to hide just how desolate that fact made her.

"He said that he is happy in Spain, and that his decision to accept his fate in exile does not mean he admits guilt or wrongdoing in regards to the mutiny." She said, though her voice sounded strangled even to her own ears.

John watched her carefully, his sharp eyes seeing exactly how she felt. Sometimes when he looked at her, it felt as though he was seeing into her very soul. It both thrilled and unnerved her greatly.

"I'm not surprised he wants as little attention as possible drawn to him if he is to become a father. Best leave it alone."

Margaret said nothing. She placed the letter carefully on the desk then peered inside the box. Beneath the shredded paper that was used as padding for whatever was inside, she found the lace that Frederick told her of. It was exquisite, a square about the size of a handkerchief. As she placed it back in the box, a small silk back caught her eye. Taking it out, she untied the strings at the top and found a beautiful pair of gold earrings. They were a simple teardrop design, and Margaret was sure she had never owned a pair that were as lovely as these.

"Oh!" She gasped, turning them over in her hand. She held them out to show John. "Aren't they beautiful?!"

"Very fine indeed."

At the very bottom of the box was another letter. It was written on a small scrap of paper in handwriting Margaret did not know.

Margaret,

My English is not perfect but I wanted to write to you myself. I send you these earrings as a gift to my sister. If it pleases you, wear them on your wedding day. I am so happy for you! I hope to meet you soon, I have heard so much about you.

Your sister,

Dolores

The kind words of a woman who, by marriage, was indeed her sister-in-law but to all intents and purposes was a stranger, warmed Margaret's heart. To know that her brother and his wife truly wished her well was worth more than anything else. She looked up, warmed by the adoring gaze of the man she would marry in just a few weeks. Suddenly she did not feel so alone in this world.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The days slipped away like sand through an hourglass. Though it had felt a thousand years away when they had set the date for the wedding, it really wasn't very far away at all. Margaret quickly felt overwhelmed with the amount of tiny details that went into organising a wedding and wedding breakfast, even a simple one.

"Does it really matter so much about the table decorations?" Margaret had asked John's mother and sister one day.

They were sitting in the drawing room of the house at Marlborough Mills one sunny Wednesday morning. Fanny had come equipped with a notebook and quill, and for the first time ever Margaret actually saw her write something down. The arrangements were being settled for the wedding, though as Hannah had lamented several times everything had been left to rather the last minute.

"Of course!" Fanny said firmly. "It is most important. Mine were very simple, but beautiful of course. Elegant. Fresh roses. And we must decide on your cake!"

Margaret did not really care about a wedding cake; she had never been fond of fruit cake, and the idea of eating a cake that had been sitting out for days did not appeal to her. She had never had much of a sweet tooth.

"I do not mind." Margaret said. "It will just get eaten, surely it does not matter what it looks like?"

Fanny shook her head, her mouth open. Margaret thought of Fanny's wedding breakfast and remembered her elaborate three tiered cake covered in pink roses made from icing.

"Most of it shall, of course. But the smaller cake will be put away to be brought out again on your twenty fifth anniversary." Fanny told her, as though Margaret had not been to a wedding before.

"I know that. Though why anybody would want to eat a cake that is twenty five years old escapes me. What about white icing with a few yellow flowers?" Margaret asked, thinking with a small smile of John's Helstone rose.

"Yellow? Are you sure?" Fanny asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Yes, yellow." Margaret insisted.

"It is Margaret's wedding, Fanny." Hannah said wearily. "Let her have some say in the matter."

"Fine." Fanny huffed. "Though pink is so much more traditional."

"Yellow is a fine colour." Hannah said. "Margaret must decide her own colours."

She was busy embroidering, something Margaret noticed she did almost constantly. Sometimes it was practical things, sewing rather than embroidery, fixing sheets. Margaret noticed her current project was a blanket stitched with white flowers.

"Those flowers are very well stitched, Mrs Thornton."

"It is a tradition that has been passed down in my family." Hannah explained, not looking up from her work. "Each baby that is born must have their own blanket, stitched by someone in the family. I thought I would start now."

"Mother, I have told you I can just buy one. Save yourself the trouble." Fanny said.

Margaret looked down at the blanket; she thought how much she would love to have her mother to make her such a gift. Fanny was thoughtless and materialistic, but she wasn't to know the ache that Margaret felt at her words.

"I think it is lovely." Margaret said.

"Thank you." Hannah said with a glance her way, continuing her stitching.

Hannah Thornton was fiercely maternal, protecting both her children like a mother goose. Margaret had seen more of her nature in the weeks they had spent together. Though she was still hard and occasionally sharp, Margaret hoped that her future mother-in-law was warming to her at least a little. They sat in companionable silence often, occasionally exchanging small talk. That was enough for Margaret, it was a sign that (hopefully) she would be welcomed back to their family home once the knot was tied.

John's workload had not lessened, though the hot weather had cooled slightly. The orders still needed to be completed, and Margaret prayed that fickle customers would not renegade on their orders that now fresher weather had returned. He had had little to do with wedding planning, as was traditional.

"I don't know why I suggested we had a wedding like Fanny's." He had told Margaret one evening as they sat in her parlour.

Though they had both tried to avoid being alone in private places together, neither had had the strength to stay away for long. John had taken to calling on her almost every night, taking dinner together just the two of them. They needed time together, to get to know one another. In the quiet hours they spent together, they would talk softly to one another about anything from current events to their childhoods. One of Margaret's favourite things to do was to read side by side.

The first time they had read together of an evening, Margaret had purposefully sat as far away from him as possible yet somehow by the end of the evening she was pressed against him, her head on his shoulder. It was most pleasant to sit like this as they read. He smelled wonderful to her, a strange mix of smoke and soap. Feeling particularly bold, she had pressed a kiss to his bare neck - though she was quite unsure what had come over her.

He had responded by placing his hands on either side of her face and kissing her firmly. They lost themselves in one another until Dixon (suspicions aroused by the lack of noise coming from the room) had rapped on the door before enturing aprubtly with a scowl.

"None of that, Miss Margaret." She had said while unlacing her corset that night. "You may be marrying him, but you've still got a reputation to think of."

Margaret had blushed furiously, angered by such presumptuous words from her servant. She bit her tongue, knowing that Dixon was only looking out for her. Still, it was a little tiresome to be dictated to by someone under her employ.

"I don't know what you mean." She said stiffly, moving away once the corset was unbuttoned. "We were reading."

"Interesting way about it." Dixon muttered under her breath as she left the room.

Margaret had been more aware of their actions from then on. It would not do at all to have people gossiping about them; though all of Milton knew they were engaged with the wedding date set, it still worried Margaret that she might do something to tarnish John's reputation. She did not care much for her own, knowing that her previous actions - as innocent as they were - had taken care of that.

Margaret had occupied herself for a few hours with the task of choosing a wedding dress. Fanny had come with her to the dressmaker, despite Margaret's protestations that she would be quite alright on her own. A number of patterns had been offered to the pair by the dressmaker, and Fanny had dismissed them all with a wave of her hand. Margaret had barely had a chance to look at them. Margaret explained to both her future sister in law and the dressmaker that she would like something similar to what she already had, when one particular pattern caught her eye.

Fanny was just about to send it away like all the others, but Margaret caught the paper before she could do so. Everyone else in Fanny's life may indulge her from time to time, but Margaret had had enough.

"Let me look." Margaret had told her, a little sharper than intended. "I like this one."

"But that is not a wedding dress!" Fanny exclaimed. "It doesn't even have a bustle, nor a train! You may as well just wear any old thing like you wanted to, not go to the bother of having such a very plain dress made."

"It is a handsome dress." The dressmaker said defensively, looking at Fanny with irritation. "And I could make it for you in satin, and add a train. It would be a little tight, what with the time frame, but it can be done."

The dress had long sleeves that clung to the arms right down to the wrist, much like one of Margaret's shirts. The neckline was rather low, exposing the collarbones and the top of the decolletage of the woman in the drawing. That could be altered, the dressmaker explained, to be a little more appropriate for church with a higher neckline. The skirt was full, though lacked the frills of most wedding dresses Margaret had seen.

"I wonder if you could make it in cotton." Margaret asked, looking up from the sheets of designs that were spread on the table in front of her. "Still with a train, but much simpler."

Fanny pulled a face at this; it was true that cotton was not a particularly fashionable material. She had joked with John that she should have a wedding dress made of it, and they had mentioned it in passing. Yet now, it seemed perfect. It was easy to get hold of, easier to work with than satin or silk and, really, cotton was probably the third most important thing in John's life after (she hoped) Margaret and Mrs Thornton.

"Cotton? Oh Miss Hale you are boring! Cotton is so unfashionable, especially for a wedding dress! You might as well get married in your nightgown. John has rubbed off on you a little too much." Fanny complained, fanning herself. The action made the sheets of paper in front of them flutter in the wind. Fanny did not seem to notice; Margaret did not say anything. Though the heat had broken, Margaret knew that Fanny had been very hot during her pregnancy and really rather miserable.

"Could you do it?" Margaret asked the dressmaker, ignoring her soon to be sister in law's comments. "Do you think it would look well in cotton?"

"Aye Miss, I think it would be unusual but the design would be unchanged. You'll be wanting Marlborough Mills cotton I expect?"

"Of course." Margaret said with a small smile. "I don't think it would do to use his competitors product on the most important day of our lives."

The school room was ready in late June, though Margaret hardly felt prepared to open it. She had tried hard to prepare herself, but the truth was she had no experience teaching and felt a knot of terror in her stomach at the thought of it.

"I've found you a teacher to help." John told her over dinner one night in early July. "Williams' daughter. She's been away in Yorkshire, teaching at a small school there. She came back last week, something about missing home."

"Really?" Margaret asked joyfully. "I was feeling a little hopeless."

"She'll advise you. You'll have to pay her, mind." John warned.

"Of course. I shall see Williams tomorrow and ask him to have her come to the school room to talk to me. I fear I rather bit off more than I can chew with the whole idea, I have been chasing my tail round in circles."

John looked at her; the expression in his eyes made her soften instantly. He looked at her with such pride that she felt it coarse through her. She did not think such a thing was possible.

"You've a head full of grand schemes, I think. I wonder what your next one will be." John said in wonder, reaching across the small dining table and tracing a finger down her cheek.

"Oh I think I have enough to be getting on with!" Margaret laughed.

As it turned out, Miss Emma Williams proved something of a boon. A quiet, unassuming girl of about twenty two with mousy brown hair and a soft face, she turned into a commanding mistress in the school room. She inspected every inch of the place, all the slates and books Margaret had procured.

"It is well enough." She had said, running a hand along the wooden table. "How many pupils am I to expect?"

"I have thirty three names." Margaret told her. "All children of the workers, under the legal age for factory work."

More than thirty years prior, the government had set in place an act banning children under nine from working in factories and mills. Margaret knew that some more unscrupulous establishments still employed children younger than that to work for them, skirting the law. The Union in Milton did something to prevent that, though Margaret wondered if many families secretly resented their interferencet. In a city where many of the poor had overwhelmingly large families, every penny counted. Having mouths that needed fed but that could not pay their own way took a toll on many. Margaret could scarcely imagine what it must be like as a child to have to work. Her own childhood was a blissful haven, something she grew more and more grateful for each day.

"And you will help with the school day?" Emma asked with a cursory glance up and down the length of Margaret's person. "Have you taught before?"

"Never." Margaret said, feeling a little embarrassed admitting to her lack of experience. "I am very keen to succeed in this venture though, I will do whatever I must."

"You'll learn. You have a strong voice and a good heart, I've heard. You're halfway there already." Emma said with an approving smile. "The children need a firm hand. I've seen how the youngun's behave, runnin' round streets like wild things."

It was true that many of the children in the poorer areas of town treated the streets as their own personal playgrounds. Margaret had seen many children fighting and bickering in the day, their parents at work. As much as she wished the children to have an education for a better future, she also saw it as a way to keep them out of trouble.

"I will not have caning, I forgot to say." Margaret said. "I don't believe in beating children to make them learn."

Emma nodded in understanding.

"Me neither, Miss Hale. We've common ground there." Emma held out her hand. "I would be glad to work for you, if you'll have me."

Margaret took her hand and shook it firmly.

The school room was opened the following week. The first day, the queue of children ran the entire length of the yard. John had told her to have the lessons during working hours - but to keep the children out of the way of the workers. Mills were dangerous places, he reminded her, and she was responsible for the safekeeping of all her charges. He had enough to worry about without gaggles of children tearing about the place.

One by one, the children filed into the room. It was hot and airless, but they did not complain. There was an atmosphere of excitement amongst them; not a one of them had ever been to school. It was an unknown world, something to be marvelled at. Margaret wondered how long such excitement would last.

Margaret stood at the back of the classroom, watching as Miss Williams began to teach. She was a woman transformed; any sense of meekness gone. She was stern yet fair, and several of the children already knew her from out and about. The morning flew by, and Margaret walked down the length of the long wooden tables examining the etchings of letters and such the children had made on their slates.

"You need to dot your i's, do not forget, Peggy." She told one girl, kneeling down beside her. "But that is marvellous for a first try. Well done."

"Ta, Miss Hale."

Margaret frowned; though she did not wish to change everything about these children, she thought that proper manners were conducive to a good learning environment.

"Thank you." Margaret corrected her.

"I didn't do nout." Peggy said with a frown on her freckled face.

"No, we don't say 'ta' at school. Thank you." Margaret explained.

"Thank you, Miss."

The day passed quickly, and soon all the children were filing out of the schoolroom in a surprisingly neat line. Margaret had told them firmly that they were to leave the mill in an orderly fashion; echoing John's sentiments that it was a dangerous place. She was sure once they were all out of the gates they would run home like bulls released from their pen. She began collecting the slates, smiling at the childish scribbles that had not been cleaned off.

"Miss, there's a visitor for you." Emma told her, nodding towards the door.

"Miss Hale. Miss Williams." John tipped his hat to them both.

Emma made an excuse about going to see her father, a small smile on her face as she dashed out the door.

"I came to enquire after the first day of school." John said, setting his hat down on the table. "From the look on your face I would say it was a success."

"Yes, indeed it was. I feel most optimistic about the future now." She walked over to him and took his hand, though she moved them both away from the door to avoid prying eyes. "About all aspects of the future."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his hand resting on her hair.

"As do I."

A/N: Hello, I'm back! The play finished at the last weekend and was a huge success so I thought I really ought to get back to doing some writing..! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next two chapters will be the big ones..wedding time! Please review if you would like to.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Margaret had underestimated just how busy the days before the wedding would be. The week before seemed to pass in a whirl of dress fittings and making various decorations. John was busy working, and Margaret saw him even less than she had in the past few weeks. Fanny kept her occupied for every moment, insisting they do and talk about things Margaret had very little interest in at all.

The only positive thing that had come out of it all was that there seemed to be a new understanding between the two women; Fanny no longer made barbed comments towards her soon to be sister in law. In turn, Margaret began to see the other woman's softer side - though she seemed to merely be concerned with how things appeared to others, Margaret could see that Fanny greatly cared about her brother. She put more effort into John and Margaret's wedding than was needed, and she seemed to do so out of a genuine love for her family. Of course, there was endless chatter about the baby and all the things that need to be bought, but Margaret did not mind that.

Edith had written to Margaret the previous month asking that she secure them accomodation in Milton for three days - the Saturday, Sunday and Monday. Margaret had pondered letting them stay in her house, though she had eventually decided it would probably be more sensible to put them in a hotel. Aunt Shaw, Edith had written, was attending the wedding. That news had brought Margaret a great sense of joy.

True to their word, Edith, Captain Lennox, Sholto and Aunt Shaw (and Sholto's governess) arrived at Outwood Station on Saturday afternoon. Margaret went to meet them, smiling widely as she saw them disembark the train. Aunt Shaw looked weary, and Margaret offered her aunt her arm.

"Thank you for coming, Aunt." She told her gratefully as they began to walk to where the carriages Margaret had organised were waiting for them. "I was not sure that you would."

"I may not entirely approve, dear, but your mother would want me to be here. I am doing it for my sister, and for the love I have for you." Aunt Shaw said rather stiffly, staring straight ahead.

The station was rather busy, as it often was at weekends. Although Milton was not a destination many visited for pleasure, the outgoing trains ferried people towards more pleasant climes. The seaside was not too far away, and many took advantage of that - especially during the height of summer. Though the weather was cooler now, the city could still feel suffocatingly hot.

"Thank you." Margaret said sincerely. "I am so grateful that you have made the journey. I know it is rather long."

Aunt Shaw merely nodded, her head turning at the sights and sounds to be seen. The whole place was rather chaotic, and though Aunt Shaw had in fact been here several times she seemed to be strangely hypnotised by it all.

"So, this is Milton." Edith said from behind them, arm in arm with her husband.

"Not quite, this is just the nearest station. I have two carriages for us, come. I will take you to your hotel and let you get settled, then I should like you to join me at my house for dinner. Mr Thornton is going to attend." Margaret told her cousin and aunt. She tried to ignore the little wrinkle in Aunt Shaw's nose at that last piece of information.

"Oh how lovely!" Edith said with a smile. "I look forward to seeing your little home. It all sounded so exciting in the letters you wrote me. Imagine, a woman free to live on her own!"

"Edith!" Aunt Shaw scolded. "Keep your voice down. I do not think it an exciting thing at all. I should be quite relieved when you are married, Margaret. I have worried for your reputation for one reason or another for weeks!"

Margaret almost laughed; if only Aunt Shaw knew that her reputation here was far from perfect! She would surely faint on the spot. Margaret did not care; she knew that she was not guilty of the indescretitions that those who gossiped about her accused her of. Well, almost none of them - those who speculated that she had kissed Mr Thornton would of course be quite right.

"There is no need for concern, Aunt. The house is my property, and you seemed so concerned that I was living in Mr Thornton's home that it seemed the most sensible option. I do not know how to make you happy!" Margaret told her. "Let us not dwell on things like this. I have so been looking forward to you coming."

"We have all been so very excited, haven't we Maxwell?" Edith asked her husband, who nodded enthusiastically. Margaret smiled at him gratefully.

"It shall be so nice to spend some time with you and your betrothed before we leave for Corfu." The Captain said. "I am sorry I did not meet him when he was in London."

"Yes, he did not have much time to spare, unfortunately." Margaret said.

"I am sorry my brother is not here." Maxwell said in a lower voice. "I know that you invited him."

Margaret had not heard from Henry since their last meeting. She was unsurprised, though she did not like to think that he was angry at her. She had a genuine fondness for Henry, as she did for his brother. It saddened her to think that he was so angry that he felt unable to show his support for her on the most important day of her life.

"Yes, I did." Margaret said. "Still, you are all here and that is plenty. Here, the carriages. One for you all, Edith. Aunt Shaw and I shall take the luggage."

Margaret accompanied them to their hotel, the smartest one Milton had to offer. Margaret had paid for all of their rooms in advance, not wanting to spark any debate about money. Edith and Margaret left Aunt Shaw with Sholto, his governess and the Captain.

Margaret watched as Edith span around her sitting room, trying not to laugh. It was true that there was not much furniture in the room, but surely it was not so empty that it constituted whirling around?

"Edith, do calm down. Surely you should be resting in your condition?" Margaret laughed, taking her cousin by the arm and leading her to the settee. "Shall I have Dixon make tea?"

Edith shook her head. She was a little red in the face, and Margaret thought a drink would probably do her good. Still, if she did not want it, Margaret would not force tea upon her. Edith smiled as she sat back against the cushions.

"Oh, I have been resting for hours sitting in boredom on the train." Edith said, running a hand over her stomach. "All I seem to do these days is rest. Though I am dreadfully tired all of the time."

"It will be worth it, I am sure, when you have another beautiful baby to cherish." Margaret said, looking down at Edith's swollen belly.

She had grown much larger since Magraret had last seen her, and her skin seemed to almost glow. Edith suited pregnancy well. Edith shifted herself, sitting up and leaning towards Margaret, who was still standing in front of her. Edith stretched out her hands, taking Margaret by the wrist and pulling her down beside her.

"Margaret, now that we are alone - I have something rather important I wish to discuss with you." Edith turned towards her, her eyes fixed on Margaret's. "Now, you musn't interrupt me or I shall entirely lose my nerve."

Edith sat up straighter on the settee, folding her hands in her lap and looking at Margaret with a most serious expression. Margaret was not used to such sombreness from her cousin, and felt a little alarmed at what it might be that needed to be discussed.

"Oh?"

"Now, I do not know if we will get another chance to talk like this - when there is nobody around." Edith told her. "And it is most important that we are not overheard."

"Edith, is something the matter?" Margaret asked with a frown.

"No, it is just - I am sure I do not know where to start!" Edith said, her hands coming from her lap and flapping around. Edith really was rather chaotic, for all her fine education and careful etiquette training.

"At the beginning is usually the wisest place. What do you need to talk to me about? Is someone ill?" Margaret asked, fearing the worst for Aunt Shaw.

"No! No, I just - I have to talk to you about your wedding night." Edith said quietly, her eyes darting around the room to make sure nobody was hiding in the shadows.

"You do not!" Margaret said, taken aback by her cousin's sudden admission. "Edith we must not speak of such things, it isn't proper!"

Edith shook her head. Margaret was most surprised indeed by what her cousin wished to speak to her about. It was all well and good to speak of romance and such in an abstract sense, but the wedding night was almost sacred in its secrecy. A woman never breathed a word of what took place in the privacy of one's bedroom.

"You have no mama to tell you things, Margaret. I am sure my mother would rather perish than have such a discussion with you, she really was no help to me at all before my wedding."

"Slow down, Edith. You're jabbering."

Her cousin had a terrible habit of speaking far too quickly; even the most sensible things sounded like gibberish when she did that.

"What do you know of the marriage bed?" Edith pressed in a whisper.

"The marriage bed?! Edith!" Margaret hissed. "I cannot!"

"I simply cannot allow you to have your wedding night not knowing what to expect, cousin. I did not know much and it was frankly a little terrifying." Edith told her. "I would not wish that on you."

"Terrifying?" Margaret asked in alarm. "What on Earth happened?"

"Nothing, nothing - well, nothing bad. I suppose. It just took a little getting used to." Edith said, lowering her eyes.

Margaret did not know what to say; she could see a small smile creeping over her cousin's face and she felt embarrassment burn in her chest. Young women did not discuss such things; Margaret had never had a conversation about the physical acts of a marriage. She knew a little, she understood how a baby was conceived. Beyond that - she was none the wiser.

"Edith, there really isn't any need for this conversation. I am aware what happens between a man and a woman." Margaret said, though really it was a half truth. She knew the mechanics, but not the specfics.

"Are you?" Edith asked in wide eyed surprise. "How?"

"I understand a little of basic biology." Margaret said with a furious blush. "It cannot be so different from animals in the farmyard, can it?"

"It is a little different, sweet cousin. It will hurt at first, but you mustn't show any fear. You must make sure that you please him." Edith whispered. "It is your duty."

"My duty?" Margaret blinked. "It is my duty to give him children, but to please him?"

"You must please him in order to get a child. But it - it makes them happy, too. It makes them stay close, stay loyal to you. You do not want him to stray."

The very suggestion that John would be anything less than devoted to her was absurd. Of course, Edith not know him well - and it was not uncommon for a man to take a mistress. The thought of John doing such a thing sickened her; though they were not even married yet, such an idea stirred something in her that she did not really understand.

"Edith!" Margaret said, face flame red. "He would never.."

"Of course not, I spoke wrongly. I am sorry to talk like this but you are my closest friend, Migs! I cannot let you go into marriage not knowing these things. I do not want anything to come as a shock to you - as it did to me."

"Are you happy in your marriage bed?" Margaret asked in a whisper so small she was sure Edith had not heard.

"Yes. I am - I will not pretend it was entirely pleasant, not at first. But now - well, now Maxwell and I understand each other quite well." Edith said, eyes still downcast. "Truthfully there were times early in our marriage where we could scarcely leave each other alone. It is lovely, being so close to someone. As long as you love them with all of your heart, of course."

"I do." Margaret said. "It took me a long time to realise but - having spent more time getting to know him in these past few weeks, I can truly say he is a good man. When I am with him I feel-"

She stopped, not wanting to share such precious feelings. They were hers, hers and his, locked inside her heart. There would be secrets between them, pleasant ones she was sure, and this was the first. Though she was sure any man with eyes could see the love and admiration she held for John, she would not say the words out loud.

"You love him very much." Edith said, reaching out a hand to brush her cousin's cheek. "Oh Migs, it does me so well to see you so happy in yourself. I worried that nobody would ever be good enough. Oh! Oh! Do let me see your dress!"

"It is in my dressing room. You must keep the details to yourself, Edith." Margaret warned, knowing that her choice of fabric would be met with raised eyebrows by her aunt as it had been by Fanny.

"Of course! I shan't breathe a word."

Margaret realised that she had managed to distract Edith, the conversation about what to expect on one's wedding night mercifully abandoned. Edith followed her to her dressing room, where the dress, along with a veil that was once her mother's, was hanging on the outside of the mahogany wardrobe that came with the house. Margaret smiled just to see the dress; it had turned out perfectly. Margaret had asked the dressmaker to keep the customer secret when she had ordered the cotton from John, and she hoped that he would have no idea her dress was to be made of the material he had dedicated his life to. They had joked about it on the very first day of their engagement, yet she was sure he would not think she was being serious.

The neckline had been raised, and the lace that Dolores and Frederick had sent her had been used to create ruffles on the cuff of the dress. The whole thing was beautifully simple, yet elegant. Margaret had felt like a queen when she had tried it on. Fanny had not been invited to the fitting, only Dixon.

"Oh Migs!" Edith breathed. She walked over to the dress, hand outstretched to run the sleeve between her fingers. "It is lovely. Is it - is it made of cotton?"

"Yes." Margaret said. "I thought it would be rather sweet. I did not see the use in spending so much money on something elaborate that I could never get any wear out of again. Once I have worn it, I can have the train removed and dye it a more practical colour. The veil is not new, it was Mama's."

"Oh Margaret, ever thinking about what is practical! I am sure you will look lovely in it. I will help you to get ready, if you wish."

"Yes, that would be lovely. It still does not feel quite real." Margaret looked once more at her dress. "I wish my parents were here."

"I know." Edith said, wrapping an arm around her cousin as they both gazed at the dress. "Your mother's veil is beautiful. I did not know that you had it."

Margaret ran the veil through her fingers, marvelling at the embroidery that trailed along the edges. It really was a fine thing, and it made her feel closer to her mother. She could not imagine wearing anything else.

"I found it a long time ago, before Father died. Dixon and I were sorting through her clothes and there it was. I saved it, just in case I should ever marry."

"I think perhaps I should sit down, just for a moment. I am rather overcome!" Edith said, brushing a tear from her cheek. "The romance of it all! Who knew such love could blossom in a place like this."

"It is not so bad. The people work hard, it is true, but that does not mean they are somehow incapable of basic human emotion. In truth, I have seen greater acts of love in my time here than I ever did in the South."

"How is your school? I have not heard from you since you said you planned to begin lessons. Have you?"

"Yes, they're going very well. I have hired a teacher to take the lessons, while I assist. She is very capable, I do not know how I ever thought I could do it alone! The children seem to be enjoying their time at school, we hardly hear a peep out of them all day."

"I am glad. And how is Mr Thornton's business faring?"

"Well, I think. The recent heat saw orders soar, he had to work hard to fulfill them. I have hardly seen him."

"Will you take a honeymoon?" Edith asked. "I know you said you did not have the time to go to Cadiz, but perhaps somewhere local?"

Margaret shook her head. There was just not the time for a honeymoon. John was preoccupied with his work, and the school had only just opened. Margaret did not think the time was right to leave everything for weeks, and she was quite content to be where they were.

"I do not think we shall have the time. He will take the day of the wedding off, of course. But he is planning to return to work the next morning."

"He might find himself a little exhausted!" Edith said mischievously, and Margaret gasped at her boldness.

"Edith Lennox! I do not know what has gotten into you!" Margaret said.

Edith had always been naughty, and thought Margaret most boringly sensible indeed. Margaret was not sure that she really was so sensible as a child; it was more that Edith got herself into so much trouble that Margaret seemed very dull in comparison. It had never been big things, but Edith valued fun and excitement much more than Margaret ever had.

Edith giggled at her cousin's outrage, clamping a hand over her mouth.

"I am sorry Migs. Expecting always seems to make me quite mad, all my sense goes out of the window! The Captain is always saying that I cannot help what comes out of my mouth when I am expecting a baby."

"Try and hold your tongue just a little. I've enough to worry about, making sure your mother keeps her thoughts to herself without worrying about you as well!"

"I will behave, I promise. What time are we dining tonight? I might return to the hotel and lie down, to try and regain some of my senses at least."

"Seven, I think. Will Sholto be joining us this evening?"

"No, I think he best rest at the hotel with his nanny. He has had a very long day and will be exhausted. He cries non stop when he is tired, there is no use keeping him from his bed. I thought, if you have time tomorrow, we could all go for a walk. You wrote to me so often of your walks, I should like to go on one myself."

"That sounds like a fine idea." Margaret said. "Perhaps after church."

"Wonderful."

Edith left for her hotel and Margaret stared forlornly at her dining table. It really was not a house suited for entertaining, and she was not sure why she had offered to host her family here instead of at the dining room in the hotel. She supposed she wanted to show her aunt that she could do things on her own, in her own way.

Dixon had been flustered for days; there was so much to prepare for that it was almost too much for her. Margaret had tried to help but had been shooed away several times. She suspected Dixon actually enjoyed the sense of purpose. Mary had been hired to help with the family dinner that evening; she was an excellent cook and under Dixon's guidance she was managing to learn new recipes with an impressive skill.

Margaret dressed for dinner with the help of Dixon. She did not often dress for dinner these days, but she knew that Aunt Shaw always made an occasion of dinner. It was a small gesture of peace, Margaret thought, to show willing to some of her aunt's more traditional ways.

"Oh Miss Margaret, I keep looking over at your dress. Seeing your mother's veil there - oh it brings back memories." Dixon said, growing a little misty eyed. "She'll be looking down on you with a smile, I've no doubt of it."

"Thank you Dixon." Margaret said, feeling her throat grow tight. "Is everything ready for tonight?"

"Yes, it is. I've done my best to set the table nicely, I know how particular your aunt is. I didn't have too much to work with." Dixon grumbled as she laced Margaret's corset. "The cutlery is not especially fine, nor the table linens."

"I know things aren't so grand here, Dixon, but it was only temporary. I've been very happy here, it really isn't such a bad place." Margaret told her, looking at her maid in the mirror. "Thank you for helping with everything."

"You're welcome. Right, we must get on or I'll never have everything ready. I have to say, it will be nice to be a ladies maid again and not have to worry about every little thing about the house."

Margaret was expecting John to be late, but it had not even turned half past six when he knocked on the door. Dixon was busy in the kitchen, so Margaret answered the door.

"Oh!" She exclaimed at the sight of John, dressed very smartly indeed. "It's you!"

"I'm sorry, were you expecting somebody else?" He asked, tipping his hat to her as he walked in the door. "Am I late?"

"You are very early! Oh do come in, I'm afraid I've been in rather a flap all day. I am not used to entertaining."

"It is only a small dinner, love." John said as he hung his coat on the hook. "Is your aunt here yet?"

"No. Oh, please do try and be civil to each other. I've enough to worry about, Edith seems to have lost all sense and is letting her tongue run away with her. Please do disregard anything she says that is utterly ridiculous, the baby seems to be taking all of her brains away from her."

"Fanny's no better, I saw her this morning and she cried because Jane used the wrong colour teapot." John told her. He turned to her, as though he was seeing her for the first time. "You look very nice this evening, Miss Hale."

"Thank you, Mr Thornton. I thought I would make a bit of an effort."

"You always look lovely." He said quietly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "In two days, we will be married."

"Yes. Two days."

Margaret held his hand in hers, raising it to her lips and pressing a kiss on the knuckles. He looked at her fondly, the love in his eyes making her feel weak. She did not know it was possible to show love in one's eyes, yet John's always burned with it. She knew that the decision to marry him was the best she could have possibly made.

A/N: Okay so I lied, there are going to be a few more chapters of wedding stuff than I'd planned. I have about six thousand words written but I'm struggling to join it all up. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, hopefully the next one won't take too long. Please leave a review if you would like to!


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Margaret get married.

After church on Sunday morning, John offered his arm to Margaret to walk her home.

"I promised Edith I would take her and Sholto on a walk. You are welcome to join us, if you can spare the time." Margaret said.

"Aye, I think I can. It is a day of rest after all." John said as Margaret slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow. "Sholto was very good in church. I've never known a child so young stay so quiet."

The child was currently trying to run away from his governess, a flustered looking young woman who chased after him shushing him desperately. John had never agreed with hiring a governess; his mother had raised him herself and he hoped that when the time came, Margaret would do the same. To thrust a precious child straight into the arms of a stranger to be kept out of sight struck him as cold.

"He is not normally so agreeable, I can assure you." Edith told him, walking alongside them with her husband. "I think everything is so strange to him that he does not know what to do! Though he seems a little more spirited now, as you can see."

"How are you finding Milton?" John asked, though he had seen them the night before for dinner. Little could have changed in the twelve hours since he had last seen them, but small talk was small talk.

"Oh, it is quite nice." Edith said, looking around. "It is a little smoky, but I do not mind it."

"I am sorry my mother was unable to come to church today." John said, more to Margaret than anyone else. "Unfortunately my sister is not feeling well, and asked that my mother stay with her until she is feeling better. She is also expecting. Her first."

"Oh, I do hope she feels better by tomorrow! She cannot miss your wedding!" Edith exclaimed.

"I am sure she will recover soon." John said.

"Fanny - Mrs Watson - has helped me so much with the wedding." Margaret told her cousin.

Meddled with the wedding was the truth of the matter in his opinion; John was sick of Fanny's complaining. When Margaret was not around to overhear, Fanny was sniping about all sorts. He had overheard her discussing details of Margaret's dress with Jane, though he quickly clapped his hands over his ears and called out for her to hold her tongue. He was growing increasingly annoyed with his sister, who seemed to have reverted to her previous habit of being rude about Margaret whenever possible.

"It will be a wonderful day, I am certain of it. I only hope you have clear skies like today!" Edith said, looking up at the sky which was indeed a rather perfect shade of blue.

"Well, whatever the weather decides to do with itself I'm sure it will be a fine day, won't it John?" Margaret asked him with a smile.

"Aye, a fine day."

They walked on, Sholto running wildly ahead - any reservations the child might have had gone now. John smiled; it was nice to see children allowed to be children, though Edith fretted endlessly that he would fall or get dirty.

John and Margaret found themselves falling behind the others, their steps slowing in time with each other. There had been so little time to spend together that just a moment of solitude was very welcome indeed.

"Are you excited?" Margaret asked.

"I feel like a child before Christmas." John confessed, revelling in the laugh he received from Margaret. He placed his hand over hers, squeezing it softly. "I've waited years for this, love."

"I am awfully worried I shall make a mistake. I might trip up the aisle, or perhaps I should say the wrong thing. There will be so many people there." Margaret worried.

"Captain Lennox has consented to give you away, hasn't he? A military man would never let you fall."

They walked for a little longer, making idle chatter about this and that. John bid the group farewell, after making sure Captain Lennox would walk Margaret home. There was still much to be done at the mill; Sundays were the one day a week the workers were not there, and John had taken to using the time to walk the length of the place to make sure everything was in order.

He walked into the house to change out of his Sunday best, to find his mother sitting in the parlour.

"I thought you would be with Fanny." He remarked, placing his hat down. "How is she?"

"Oh, she is fine. The usual sickness, nothing more. I had to get out of there before she drove me to insanity." Hannah said. "Is Margaret not with you?"

"No, she went home."

"A pity. I've something to give her."

"What?"

"I've made her something." She said, not looking up from her needlework. "I've embroidered her a handkerchief."

John was rather surprised by this; his mother had a fondness for needlework, and an aptitude for it too. Years of mending their clothes saw to that. Yet to embroider something especially for Margaret - that was a gesture he was not expecting.

"Mother, tell me - I must know - do you approve of Margaret now?"

"Aye, I do. She's shown herself to be more than I ever knew these past few weeks. I will not pretend to approve of everything she does, she's still a little wild for my tastes. I can see she makes you happy, and I am glad of it."

"What if I am not good enough for her?" John asked, kneeling beside his mother and placing his hand on her arm. "Things with the mill are improving slowly, but the risks are still there. What if I marry her and cannot provide for her?"

His mother was the first person he turned to when he was feeling uneasy; they had always had an understanding. He could speak to her without the fear of judgement, knowing she would provide him with honest counsel. She ran her hand over his chin, looking at him the way that she always had. It was no secret that she adored him, and John was not embarrassed by her affections. His mother had made him the man he was, and he valued her just as much as she did him.

"Marriage isn't easy, son. But you have a good head on your shoulders, and I know you have a loving heart. You will have things to learn, I can tell you that for certain. Just - do what you think is best. You've always done the best thing for others, you've never put yourself first. I've said it before, but Margaret has found herself a rare type of man I can assure you."

"Is everything ready for tomorrow?" John asked as he stood, moving to sit down.

The Sunday papers lay on the table, and he began to read. The words would not seem to go into his mind, his thoughts consumed by Margaret and the wedding.

"It is all under control, yes. Though how we're going to fit so many guests in here I can't tell you."

"How many?" John asked, turning a page of his paper.

"Forty six, at the last count."

"I don't know forty six people." John said, shaking his head. "Certainly I don't know forty six people I like well enough to spend an entire day with them."

"It is a wedding, son. You don't have to like them." She said wryly. "Margaret's family arrived safely I trust?"

His mother had been with Fanny the day before and had not returned until that morning. The dinner the night before had passed without incident, though the conversation had been rather stilted. Margaret seemed pleased enough with it all, so he could not pass complaint.

"Yesterday, aye. I saw them at church this morning, they all seemed happy enough. Her aunt barely spoke to me at dinner last night or this morning."

"Stop paying her so much mind, John. I am sure no man would ever be good enough for her precious niece."

"Mother!" John said sharply. "No more of that talk."

"I am merely stating that her Aunt Shaw seems to have near impossible standards for her niece. Still, she must approve of you somewhat if she made the journey here. She was not exactly discreet in her opinion of Milton."

"Aye, I know. But she seems to have made peace with the fact Margaret has made up her mind."

"Certainly once she's made her mind up about something, there is no hope to change it." His mother muttered.

"It was one of the things I love about her. Indeed, I think it is a quality the two of you share, if you would stop scrutinizing her long enough to see it."

"I have not been scrutinizing her, John. I think I have been quite kind to her!" His mother said, her voice giving away that his words had stung her. "It has been an adjustment for me, but I have tried to like her and tried to welcome her into our family."

"I know." He said hastily. "I know you have and I am very grateful. I hope - I hope all of us living here together will not be too hard."

"I think she understands me. I understand her better than I did before, though I may never get the full measure of her. That will be enough to see us by. I think I shall stay at Fanny's house for the rest of the week, son. Leave the newlyweds to it."

John did not know what to say except a muttered, embarrassed "thank you, mother."

As the sun set, John could not settle. He had paced up and down the mill a dozen times, his hands restless. Yet his mind could not focus, he could not stick at anything. He'd looked over contracts yet the words seemed to jumble together.

Giving up, he walked to Margaret's house. It was strange that this would be the last time he would have to do such a thing. Tomorrow, she would be Mrs John Thornton and live under his roof. He would never have to miss her again. He took with him the gift from his mother, wrapped in tissue paper.

"Miss Hale." John nodded his head. "I'm sorry to disturb you, I know it is getting late."

"Come in, come in. I was just about to get ready for bed, so this is perfect timing. Edith said I should retire early, though I am not sure how I will get any sleep at all." Margaret said, ushering him in quickly and closing the door behind him.

"Are you alright?" He asked, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek in greeting.

"I am a little nervous." Margaret told him. "Such feelings are natural, I am sure."

"I am too. I've hardly been able to stand still this whole afternoon. I just wanted to see you one last time before tomorrow. I hope that is alright."

"Of course. Thank you for coming. Would you like tea?"

John shook his head. She took him by the hand and lead him to her sitting room, not letting go until they sat side by side on the settee, a little closer than propriety allowed. There was nobody here to see, and after tomorrow it would not matter how closely they sat together. He kissed her forehead.

" won't stay for long. I wanted to bring you this, it is a gift from my mother."

John handed her the tissue paper parcel, and she unwrapped it curiously. He had not yet seen the gift properly, his mother having obscured it from his sight. It was embroidered with soft yellow flowers; he wondered how his mother could have possibly known Margaret's fondness for the yellow roses at Helstone.

"Oh, how beautiful. I was admiring your mother's embroidery a few weeks ago; she was making a baby blanket for Fanny. It is lovely." She traced her finger over the edging. "Such fine yellow flowers. They remind me of the roses at Helstone."

She looked at him with a smile.

"How did she know?" John asked. "I did not tell her."

"I wanted yellow flowers on our cake - Fanny thought it most unusual. Your mother must have guessed that I had a fondness for them, that is all. Look, she has sewn the date of our wedding with our initials in the middle. How fine this is, I shall carry it with me tomorrow for luck."

"She'll be glad of that. I think she is looking forward to hosting another wedding; she'd never admit it, but she secretly enjoyed the fuss of Fanny's, I think. She does enjoy entertaining, however much she might claim not to. You saw her smile at that dinner party we had long ago, she enjoys good company."

"She's been an invaluable help. She stopped Fanny going too mad, at least. If your sister had her way I would be wearing a dress so wide I am sure I would not fit down the aisle!"

"Then I would marry you in the open air." John smiled, cupping her face in his hand. "Nothing could stop me."

"You are certain you wish to marry me?" Margaret asked, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. He leaned forward, touching his nose to hers, their foreheads pressed together.

"After all this time, you doubt me?" He whispered. "I have never been so sure of anything in my life, and I am not a man who does things by halves."

"It is not doubt it is just - all the time we have wasted. If I'd have just - if things had been different."

"What's the use in thinking on all that now? I'll not pretend it was pleasant, wanting you for so long and thinking that you despised me. Perhaps you even did despise me. All that matters now is that you love me. You - you do love me, don't you?"

"You have asked me before, I thought I was quite clear about my answer." Margaret said firmly, though there was no anger in her voice. "I love you, John Thornton."

"I love you, Margaret Hale."

"It is the last night you shall be able to call me that." Margaret smiled. "For tomorrow I shall be Mrs-"

"John Thornton." John said at the same time as she did, their voices joining as one. He pulled her to him, holding her tightly against him. "My Margaret."

"Yours, John. As you shall be mine."

"Forever." He vowed. "I'll leave you, I promised my mother I'd be back. I shall see you tomorrow then. Nine o'clock sharp."

"Indeed. I shall be the one underneath the veil." Margaret said with a smile. "Sleep well."

Though neither knew what the other was doing, they both struggled to sleep that night. Margaet tossed and turned hopelessly in her bed, listening as the clock chimed every hour. At six o'clock, after a few hours of disturbed, snatched sleep, there was a sharp knock at the bedroom door. Margaret sat up in alarm, feeling blindly for the small clock that sat on her bedside table. She squinted at the time, and threw it down.

"What?" Margaret called. "It is too early, Dixon!"

"It's me, Edith."

"Edith? What are you doing here?!" Margaret mumbled as the door opened.

"You need to get ready! There are only a few hours until your wedding, we haven't the time to waste! Come, up you get."

Margaret did as she was instructed, washing and readying herself for the day. It seemed far too long to get ready; it usually took her only half an hour or so to get washed and dressed for the day. However, Edith was right; everything seemed to take far longer than usual. She could hardly eat, her stomach was so overcome by nerves and excitement. Her hair seemed to be unruly, refusing to be pinned in place no matter how hard Dixon tried. Everything felt as if it was going wrong; a button came off her dress and had to be hastily mended, she could not find the necklace she wanted to wear and the flowers were late to be delivered.

When all had calmed, Margaret stared at herself in the mirror. It was like looking at a portrait of someone she recognised but did not know. Her hair was loosely pinned, lower and freer than she normally wore her hair. Her mother's veil sat on her head, covering her face, held in place by a small floral headdress - orange blossoms, as was the fashion. She wore her new dress (of course), the Spanish lace at the cuffs visible as she clutched her bouquet of posies. Edith had overseen her getting ready this morning, and had instructed Dixon to lace Margaret's corset tighter than usual. The result was Margaret's already small waist looked even tinier, the dress being pinned in to reflect it. It was really rather uncomfortable, and did nothing to help Margaret's nerves. It did not feel real, that she should look in the mirror and see this - this bride staring back at her.

"Oh, how beautiful you look Migs!" Edith exclaimed, fussing with the train of Margaret's dress. "The most beautiful bride I have ever seen."

"I feel ridiculous." Margaret protested. "I look like an enormous snow beast from a fairy story!"

"Oh Margaret, you never did like dressing up! Come, it is quarter to nine already. We must hurry or you shall be late."

"Is it?" Margaret asked in alarm. "Edith we will never get there in time! I did not know it was so late!"

Dixon had gone ahead of them once Margaret was ready, leaving only her flighty cousin to make sure that they got to the church on time. Margaret felt her stomach churn, a combination of nerves and the crushing constriction of her corset. Edith patted her arm, trying to calm her cousin before she descended into uncharacteristic hysterics.

"The carriage is already outside, and Maxwell is waiting for you inside." Edith reassured her, leading her out of the dressing room and down the stairs towards the front door.

"You will come too?" Margaret asked in a panic. "You can't go by yourself!"

Edith shushed her; Margaret was really growing rather shrill. It was strange, she did not feel herself at all this morning.

"Yes I am coming with you. I may be slightly too elephant like to be your maid of honour, but I will not leave you to travel to the church alone."

"You look lovely." Margaret told her cousin earnestly; it was true.

Her cousin was wearing very fine clothes indeed, a short sleeved lilac dress in fine silk. Her stomach had swelled, the bump being accommodated by a slightly looser fit of dress than Edith would normally wear. She glowed with health, her hair pinned back. Margaret smiled; Edith had always been the more beautiful of the two.

"Come, we should be on our way by now. Have you got everything?" Edith said, suddenly changing from a relatively calm demeanour to descending into a total panic.

Margaret went through a list of all that she should have in her mind. Her veil, her bouquet, the handkerchief from Mrs Thornton that was tucked safely inside her sleeve, her -

"Oh, my earrings! Dolores sent me a pair, I must wear them!"

Margaret ran back up the stairs, rifling through her things to find them. She put them in hurriedly, accidentally scratching the back of her neck with the sharp end of the hook, which was longer than she was used to. She winced.

"Margaret, do calm down." Edith said breathlessly, having run up the stairs far too quickly for someone in her condition. "Oh, you're bleeding!"

Margaret's eyes widened, her hand flying to the scratch. She pulled her hand away, seeing only a tiny amount of blood. Still, it would not do at all to stain her dress before she had even left the house. She found a handkerchief and pressed it to her.

"It is just a scratch." Margaret insisted, waving away her cousin's fussing hand. "Come, we will be late!"

They piled into the carriage, a slightly alarmed looking Maxwell not having time to help them in. He was in full military dress, as he was for the majority of the time. Margaret could scarcely remember seeing him in civilian clothes. He was dressed in his ceremonial uniform, and looked very smart indeed.

"Ladies, are you alright? We shall be late." Maxwell - rather unhelpfully - pointed out to the pair of already panicked women.

"Don't!" Edith and Margaret scolded him in one voice.

Margaret said very little for the ride to the church. She stared out of the window at the grey buildings that towered above them. It was all so familiar to her now, yet she could never have imagined when she first came to Milton that she would get married here. Indeed, if she could somehow travel backwards in time and tell her past self that she would marry John Thornton, she was sure past Margaret would think her quite mad indeed!

"What is the time?" Margaret asked as the church came into sight.

Maxwell took a pocket watch out, flipping it open.

"Five minutes past nine."

Margaret exhaled a relieved breath, trying to steady her nerves. She was not sure what to expect of the day; she just hoped it would run smoothly. The carriage drew up outside of the church. The bells were already ringing, and each chime sent a fresh surge of fear through Margaret's body. She had never felt such trepidation in all of her life; though, and she could say this with complete assurance, she knew that the man waiting for her inside was not the cause of her fear.

The driver opened the door, and Maxwell got out first, followed by Edith. They both helped Margaret down. Though her wedding dress was not as large as some she had seen, the skirt was fuller than those she normally wore and took a little more care to move around in. Edith straightened out her skirt and veil, fussing that it held just so.

The vicar was waiting for them outside the church. He was a kind man; Margaret had spoken to him a little before her mother's funeral, and of course she had seen him every Sunday for the entirety of her family's time in Milton.

"Are you ready?" He asked. "I think your groom is beginning to grow a little worried that you might be late."

"I'm ready." Margaret said, not wanting to keep John waiting a moment longer.

The vicar nodded, going back into the church. Edith squeezed Margaret's hand tightly.

"Good luck, Migs. I wish you all the happiness on this Earth." She whispered into Margaret's ear.

Margaret smiled gratefully at her, her throat growing a little tight. It all suddenly felt very real indeed; in a matter of moments, she would be walking up the aisle towards her new life. Edith scurried off into the church to take her seat, and Margaret was left alone with Captain Lennox.

"Ready?" He asked, offering her the crook of his arm. She slipped her arm through his, stepping towards the open doors of the church.

Margaret heard the distant voice of the vicar asking that the congregation stand. She clung to Maxwell's arms, wishing so much that her father was beside her. He would know just what to say, just how to calm her. She looked up to the sky, praying that her parents were in Heaven watching over her.

Maxwell took the first step, and she followed his pace. They paused in the church's vestibule, as was customary. He looked at her with a bright smile on his boyish face and she tried to smile back. Her veil obscured her face, and she hoped it would be enough that nobody could see just how nervous she felt.

She took a step forward, hearing only the roaring of blood in her own ears as her heart raced. Her eyes were firmly fixed forwards. The aisle suddenly felt a hundred miles long, John so far away he was practically a dot. She kept walking, unable to tear her eyes away from him. He stood with his back to her, as was traditional. A small part of her wished that he would turn around and see her; seeing his face would give her the courage she felt she was sorely lacking.

Margaret turned her head just a little to look at those around her. The church was full; John had given his workers the day off in celebration of his marriage, and many of his workers filled the rear pews and more stood at the back and at the sides. She could see Nicholas, Mary and the Boucher children standing on her side. Though they would not be able to see it through the thick lace of her veil, she smiled at them. She could see Aunt Shaw standing beside Edith in the front row of her side, Sholto and his governess sitting separately in the pew behind them. They were both dabbing at their eyes with Margaret's great surprise, Henry Lennox was standing beside her aunt, watching stony faced as she made her way up the aisle.

Margaret turned her head back towards the altar; they were almost at the front of the church now. John still stood staring resolutely forwards as she arrived by his side. Only then did he turn towards her, and Margaret felt all of her fear vanish at the sight of him. His face could easily be mistaken as stern, his mouth set in a thin line. Margaret looked down; she could see his hand shake slightly by his side. Maxwell consented to give her away and Edith rushed forward to take Margaret's bouquet - though she was not Margaret's maid of honour, Edith had promised to take the flowers away from her so that they did not hinder the practicalities of the ceremony. Margaret turned to John and took his hand in hers in readiness to say their vows. She had chosen not to wear gloves, and feeling his cool hand in hers filled her with joy. She squeezed his hand gently, feeling him grip her back.

Margaret listened intently to the vicar's sermon, though she was anxious to make her vows. He began by reading a passage from Corinthians, one that her father had always used in the marriage services he performed. She had not asked the vicar to include this, and hearing the familiar words brought tears to her eyes.

"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

Margaret was not sure she truly understood exactly what it meant to be in love; the way she felt for John seemed to change every time she saw him. She loved him, that was not what she doubted. She doubted if she would have the patience, the selflessness required to be a good wife to him. Yet she knew that she would stand beside him through anything, that he would always be by her side in his turn. She could only hope that their love would be just as Corinthians had it.

When the time to recite their vows came, she swallowed heavily. Her throat had turned dry and rough, and she feared that her voice would not come to her. John, mercifully, was instructed to speak first.

"Repeat after me. I, John George Thornton."

"I, John George Thornton."

His voice gave no sign of nerves, as strong and deep as it ever had been. He stared at her so intently she felt she might melt under his gaze. She tried to smile, though tears pricked at her eyes. This was it, the moment she had longed for these past months. He was making his vows to her, the vows that would bind them in this mortal life and the next.

"Do take thee, Margaret Maria Hale."

"Do take thee, Margaret Maria Hale."

"To be my lawfully wedded wife."

"To be my lawfully wedded wife."

"To have, and to hold."

"To have, and to hold."

"In sickness and in health."

"In sickness and in health."

"To love and to cherish."

"To love and to cherish."

"Till death us do part."

"Till death us do part."

"In accordance with God's holy ordinance; and thereto, I pledge thee my troth."

"In accordance with God's holy ordinance; and thereto, I pledge thee my troth."

John's gaze had remained fixed on her as he spoke, his eyes never leaving her. He was truly making his vows to her, and she felt the enormity of his promise surround her. She could see pure love in his face, in every curve and crevice of his features. She cleared her throat slightly, hoping beyond hope that her voice would not let her down.

"I, Margaret Maria Hale." The vicar began, nodding for Margaret to repeat his words.

"I, Margaret Maria Hale." Margaret said, relieved to find that her voice was just as clear as it always was. These were the most important words she would ever say.

"Do take thee, John George Thornton."

"Do take thee, John George Thornton."

"To have, and to hold."

"To have, and to hold."

"In sickness and in health."

"In sickness and in health."

"To love, cherish and obey."

"To love, cherish and obey."

"Till death us do part."

"Till death us do part."

"In accordance with God's holy ordinance; and thereto, I pledge thee my troth."

"In accordance with God's holy ordinance; and thereto, I pledge thee my troth."

The vows had not changed for hundreds of years, Margaret realised. How many couples had stood in this place and said those vows, Margaret wondered. Her parents had made those same vows to one another, John's parents too. They stood here in the shadows of those who had come before them.

John took a simple gold band from the vicar, who held it out on the pages of the bible. John slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand, his hand covering hers firmly when it was in place, as though it might fall off or vanish.

"Repeat after me." The vicar instructed John again. "With this ring I thee wed."

"With this ring I thee wed."

"With my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods I thee endow:"

"With my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods I thee endow:"

"In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

"In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The couple were instructed to kneel before the altar. They did so hand in hand, heads bent to hear the prayer that the vicar would say next.

"Let us pray. O eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life: Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy Name; that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made, and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

The vicar stood before them, joining their right hands together (with a disapproving look that they had in fact been holding hands for the entire ceremony, not the usual practice at all) and speaking to the congregation once more.

"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. Forasmuch as John and Margaret have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

John looked at his bride, though he could scarcely see her face. She looked remarkable; she truly looked as though she was an angel descended from heaven. The ceremony was almost torturously long after they had made their vows; the Reverend did not seem to be able to stop talking. John's fingers almost itched with anticipation to lift his bride's veil and look upon her face.

Finally, after what felt like endless hymns and psalms, John was permitted to lift the veil that covered her face. He lifted it over and let it fall back. She looked more lovely than ever, her face fixed in a smile so broad that her eyes were almost closed. He had never seen her look so joyous, and it made his heart light to see it.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

He leaned down and placed a light, chaste kiss on her lips. He could hardly pull away, so thrilled to hear those words after his years of longing. Taking her hand in his, he had to refrain from running down the aisle with his new wife.

As they walked down the aisle, he murmured quietly in her ear.

"Hello, wife."

"Hello, husband." Margaret said.

John thought the word had never sounded so well.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

The church bells rang out in celebration of their marriage. As they walked through the church yard, they were met with a shower of rice from their guests. Margaret laughed at the sight of the brim of John's top hat almost filling with the stuff, and she brushed it off his shoulders. They stopped by the side of the path to greet their well wishers and thank them for attending the ceremony.

John's workers had made a quiet exit, knowing that their place was not to stay. Margaret was pleased to see that Nicholas and Mary had stayed a little longer.

"Congratulations, Master. Mrs Thornton." Nicholas shook John's hand firmly, nodding his head towards Margaret. "Bessie would have loved to see you lookin' so grand, Miss. Sorry, Mistress. You're not our Miss Margaret no more."

Margaret glanced upwards towards the sky, thinking of how much she missed her friend. What would Bessie have made of this, Margaret thought, to see her marrying the Master. Bessie had seen something between the two of them - how much Margaret would have loved to be able to tell her that she was right.

"Oh, thank you for coming Nicholas. Are you sure you will not come back to the house this afternoon?" Margaret asked.

Mary and Nicholas shook their heads in unison. Margaret was not surprised; when she had first invited them to the reception that was to take place later that day, they had refused. Nicholas had told her that they knew their place, and that place was not amongst rich folk looking down at them with pity or disgust.

"No. It in't our place, but I'm sure there'll be a good many of us raisin' a glass to your good health in the pub later."

"Not too many glasses, you've to be in work on time tomorrow." John said, though his eyes were smiling. "Thanks for coming, Higgins."

Nicholas nodded, leading his daughter away. Margaret turned her head to greet the next guests, but in that moment she felt very far away from her friends.

"Margaret." Mrs Thornton greeted her new daughter in law. "John. Congratulations. Is that a cotton dress, Margaret? A thoughtful idea."

"Yes, I thought it would be rather nice." Margaret looked down at her dress. "The lace on the cuffs was sent to me by my brother and his wife."

"It is rather simpler than I thought you would choose. It suits you."

From anyone else, Margaret might think that an insult, but Hannah Thornton seemed to approve of simplicity. Margaret murmured her thanks, greeting Fanny who had appeared behind her mother.

"It looks a little better than in the drawings." Fanny conceded, flicking her eyes up and down Margaret's body. "Though the neckline is rather high."

"Quite right." Hannah said. "It is a church wedding, Fanny."

"Are you feeling better?" Margaret asked with genuine concern.

"A little, yes. Though it was terribly hot in that church, I felt a little faint. I shall go home to rest before this afternoon's celebration."

Margaret looked around for her family, waving to Edith. She came over promptly, smiling broadly. She dived at her cousin, kissing Margaret on both cheeks and squeezing her incredibly tightly.

"Oh Margaret, you look so lovely! Mr Thornton, congratulations. I know you will make my cousin so very happy." Edith said, taking John's hands in hers with a smile.

"I shall spend my life trying to do just that."

After leaving the church, there was a little time to prepare the house for guests. The servants had done almost everything, of course, but there was still enough to keep them occupied. Margaret, with the help of Dixon, went to her old room to remove her veil and flowers. Some brides chose to change their dresses, but Margaret was happy enough in hers.

At midday, the guests returned to the house. By ten past, the house felt full to bursting with people Margaret barely knew. Many women came up to her to offer their well wishes, and she tried to take note of their names but everything felt rather overwhelming. John introduced her to several members of his family, and by four o'clock that afternoon her head was full of new names and faces to try and remember.

There was one old face that she needed to speak to; Henry Lennox. He had arrived much later than the rest of the guests, and had mostly kept to himself in one corner or another. Margaret would have said he was scowling, but his face had never looked particularly friendly anyway. She took a deep breath and walked over to him.

"Henry. Thank you for coming." Margaret said. "I did not think that you would."

"Maxwell told me I was being petulant. He was right." Henry told her; Margaret was a little surprised by his frankness. "I owe you an apology, I think."

Margaret did not wish to hear a half hearted explanation of his behaviour; she was too occupied with her own elation to be bothered with it. Whatever had passed between them was done with now, and Margaret did not wish to rake up their last meeting.

"Please, do not concern yourself with that. I am grateful you are here Henry, truly. I have so little family, and I consider you a part of that family. I value your friendship, and the work that you have done for me over the past few months. The help you tried to offer Fred - I shall never forget the kindness you showed me and mine."

"It was nothing." Henry said, taking a drink from his glass and steadfastly avoiding her eyes.

"You are too modest, Henry. How are you finding Milton?" Margaret stood beside him, both of them facing out and observing the social scene in front of them.

"Much the same as the last time I was here. I should be glad to get back to London."

"I am sorry it is not to your liking." Margaret said, though she silently agreed with Captain Lennox that Henry was being most petulant indeed.

They stood together in an awkward silence for a few minutes as those around them chattered companionably. Margaret searched the room for someone else to talk to, when she felt a sudden surge of inspiration.

Ann Latimer stood near the doorway with her father, who was busy talking to Slickson. Margaret caught her eye and smiled. Ann gratefully left her father's side to move to talk to the bride.

"Congratulations, Mrs Thornton. You look most beautiful." Ann took her hand, and even pressed a kiss to the air near Margaret's cheek.

It was not usual for the bride herself to be congratulated; the honour, it was perceived, was entirely hers to be marrying a man. Margaret was not sure if Ann's offer of congratulations was borne of a genuine sincerity or some strange slight. She did not think on it too long, instead smiling broadly and nodding in acceptance of what she hoped were well wishes.

"That is very kind of you. Thank you so much for coming. Henry, might I introduce you to Miss Latimer?" Margaret asked. "Miss Latimer is the most accomplished young woman, Henry. I am sure you will have much to talk about."

Margaret saw his eyes move as he took her in, and though she could not be sure, she thought she saw a ghost of a smile move over his stoney face.

"Miss Latimer, this is my cousin's brother-in-law, Mr Henry Lennox. He is a lawyer from London."

At the mention of his profession and location, Ann's face lit up Margaret knew that Ann held the same admiration of London as Fanny did. Fine London gentlemen did not often make their way to these parts.

"How do you do?" Ann held her hand out and Henry looked down at it, seemingly perplexed by Ann's boldness.

"In the North, men and women shake hands." Margaret told him quietly, guiding him on the etiquette she herself had once stumbled on.

Henry took Ann's hand, shaking it weakly. Ann inclined her head to him, smiling demurely.

"Hello." Henry nodded. "How do you do?"

"I recognise you from the Exhibition." Ann told him with a soft smile. "Wasn't it simply wonderful?"

"A triumph." Henry agreed shortly. "What did you enjoy the most?"

Ann's eyes sparkled at Henry's interest in her opinions. Margaret wondered if anyone had engaged in conversation with her for some time, as she seemed so animated. Perhaps that was a sparkle in her eye not because of the memory of the Exhibition - but Henry himself.

"Oh, the wonderful silks from the Orient! They were so exquisite. Did you see the Koh-i-Noor, Mr Lennox? That was quite extraordinary, the most beautiful jewel the world will ever see!"

"Yes, it was rather impressive. I enjoyed.."

Margaret looked around the room as the pair engaged in small talk, and was amused to see John backed into a corner by Aunt Shaw. She seemed to have softened to him, and was now talking his ear off in a loud voice about the plans to move to Corfu.

"If you will excuse me for a moment." Margaret slipped away.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that John made his own excuses, and he followed her into the hallway at an impressive (and thoroughly indiscreet) pace. He ushered her up the stairs before anyone standing talking in the hallway could see them, and into his study. Margaret looked back as he practically dragged her away, knowing it was not good form to leave their guests unattended.

"John, what are you doing?" She whispered as he closed the door behind them.

"Allow me just a moment alone with you." He kissed her cheek. "Just one moment to admire how lovely you look."

"You look very dashing yourself, Mr Thornton." Margaret teased, dropping into an elaborate curtsey in front of him. He bowed his head in return.

He did look very smart indeed in his blue frock coat. It was all the fashion for men to marry wearing a coloured coat, and though it seemed unlikely John did tend to follow fashion. He suited all manner of clothing very well. He had such a slim physique and a great height, and thus he suited anything. Margaret liked his gold cravat best, though he was not wearing it today.

"Mrs Thornton." He tipped his head to her. "You've been playing Cupid, I see. Not enough romance for you already?"

"I don't know what you mean." Margaret said innocently. "I just thought perhaps they would get on well together. They are the only two unmarried people here, it would be a shame if they did not formally meet."

"It wouldn't be a bad match." John conceded. "Though from the look on his face I doubt he's interested."

"That is how his face always looks." Margaret said with a smile. "How much longer do we have to stay?"

"Until the last guest has left I suppose. Quick, invite Fanny to play the piano and that'll clear the room."

Margaret laughed.

"That would not be very gracious of us. I am exhausted already, I do not think I wish to hear any more talk of flowers or dresses for as long as I live."

"A few more hours, love. Do you think you can stand it?"

"I suppose I must. Edith insisted I wake up at six in the morning to begin getting ready, and I barely slept at all." Margaret suppressed a yawn. She shook her head. "This will never do, we must speak to our guests. You start one way, I'll start the other and we shall meet in the middle."

As she began to walk away, John grabbed her wrist. He pulled her gently back to him, standing behind her and embracing her. He leaned down to whisper into her ear.

"Margaret, while we have a moment alone. I need to tell you that I am the happiest I have ever felt in all my life."

The feeling of his breath against her skin made her shiver. It was not a bad sensation; indeed, it was most pleasant. Margaret closed her eyes, a smile spreading over her face at the relief of being able to embrace him with no fear of scandal. They were married now, it was perfectly acceptable to be close to one another in privacy such as this.

"I am glad. I am so glad to be your wife, husband." Margaret rested her head against his shoulder. "Though I shall be even gladder still when I am free of this dress."

"Oh, really?" John asked in a voice so low that it was almost a growl.

Margaret felt her cheeks flame red as she realised the implications of what she had just said. She stammered an explanation, trying to avoid John's eyes. He did not say anything else, instead kissing the bare skin between her ear and her hair. She could not deny that his words had set something in her on fire, a feeling that she had felt occasionally yet never this strongly. It raced through her, shooting up and down her spine. She felt dizzy with it, his lips tracing down the length of her neck distracting her from any sense she may have once had.

"We should get back to our guests." Margaret said breathlessly, though her hands ached to touch him. "It will not do to leave them for so long. There will be talk."

"Let them talk." John said into her ear. "We are married now, what is there to say?"

He kissed her again, and Margaret felt quite lost until there was a knock on the door. Edith opened it, smiling knowingly, and told them both that they were needed.

The celebration finally dwindled at around nine o'clock that evening. Margaret had not expected it to continue so long into the evening. The house did not have much space for dancing, but somehow Fanny found her way to the piano (despite claiming to be absolutely exhausted) and played pleasantly enough that a few people danced a little. Margaret preferred to watch, though after a little cajoling she joined John for a very slow waltz in which he trod on her toes several times.

Margaret kept looking down at her left hand; the weight of her wedding band (light at it was) was entirely alien to her yet the sight of the simple gold band resting on her finger filled her with joy. She was not an object to be possessed, but knowing that that one piece of jewellery signified the everlasting union between her and John - it made her feel invincible, somehow.

As the last guests drifted away, Margaret exhaled a breath she had not realised she had been holding. She did not enjoy parties, she had never enjoyed them. Though it was pleasant enough, talking to so many people for such a long time had exhausted her. She had barely slept the night before and tiredness was creeping in, replacing the exhilaration that had been driving her all day.

"You look tired, love." John came behind her, wrapping his arms around her and leaning down so his chin rested on her shoulder. "It has been a long day."

"A very happy one." Margaret agreed.

"My mother has taken Fanny home. She says she will stay there tonight." John told her.

"Oh." Margaret could not say anything else.

"I-" John began, though he stopped. He stood up straight, walking pointlessly from one side of the room to the other. "Margaret, may I show you to our bedroom?"

"Yes."

She followed him up the stairs, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. It had been many weeks since she had been in this part of the house. It was hard to believe that now she would be sleeping in John's bed, in John's room. Their room. She had never seen his room (contrary to some rumours she had heard), and as he pushed open the heavy door she was not sure what to expect.

His room was much larger than the one she had resided in for those heady days at the beginning of their engagement. The walls were covered in a dark green wallpaper with matching curtains that had already been drawn. There was a fire in the grate, for even though it was July Margaret knew the house grew cold and damp easily. The whole room was bathed in dancing orange light and looked really most inviting indeed.

"This is my room." He said, somewhat awkwardly closing the door behind them. "Our room. If you wish, you can sleep in your old room but-"

Margaret realised that she did not want to be parted from this man, ever. She wanted to fall asleep beside him for the rest of their days, not go to her own room each night.

"No, I shall sleep with you. If that is alright, of course!"

"Yes!" John replied quickly. "Of course, I just didn't know - I wasn't sure what you wanted to do. I have a dressing room next door, though I never use it. You may have use of that to keep your things and dress every day."

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else you might need?" John asked.

"I need Dixon to help me out of this."

"Do not call for Dixon." John said, as Margaret's hand closed over the door handle. "Not tonight."

"Why?" Margaret asked, placing her hand back by her side and looking over her shoulder at him.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows, as though she should know what he was asking. Margaret did not.

"I wish -" John cleared his throat. "I wish to undress you myself."

Margaret felt a smile spread over her face that she could not control, a thrill jolting through her at her new husband's boldness. He seemed a little embarrassed by what he had just said, turning away from her and fiddling with the lamp just to keep himself busy. She walked to him and placed her hand on his upper arm, stilling him.

"As you wish." She said. "Be careful not to pull any buttons off, one fell off this morning and she will not thank you for giving her more mending to do. They're very fragile."

"I'll be careful." He promised her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and turning her around.

The layout of John's - their - bedroom was unfamiliar to her, and the sight of a full length mirror on the wall opposite them made her jump a little. She could barely look at her own reflection, the sight of John standing so close to her and looking at her so tenderly filling her with something she did not understand.

His fingers began to undo the buttons one by one. She could not look up, feeling almost terrified of seeing him so close to her reflected in the mirror. She could not shake the fear that gripped her; the weight of what was expected of her that night burdened her, though she could not place why. She did not believe that John could ever be cruel to her - yet he had waited so long for her, surely she could be nothing but a disappointment?

"I do not believe I shall ever get used to being called Mrs Thornton. I shall always be peering over my shoulder looking for your mother." Margaret said in a voice that sounded a little shrill - saying the first thing she could think of to break the awkward silence that had settled between them.

"It makes me glad to hear it - Mrs John Thornton. It suits you well. As does this dress. If only all the women in the world could see you in that, they'd be buying cotton in droves." He murmured against the skin of her neck as his hands neared the end of the buttons. He ran one hand over her sleeve.

"John, let us talk of something other than cotton. It is our wedding night." She said softly, turning to him and placing her hands on his neck.

"Aye, it is. You'll have to promise to make no more mention of my mother, then."

He kissed her softly, his arms around her waist pulling him to her. There was no reason to hold back, no fear of being accused of impropriety. They were married in the eyes of God and man. Here, alone in what was no longer just his bedroom but hers as well, they were free.

She kissed him deeply, the first time they had kissed with no fear of being caught in months. He had yearned for her, and she for him. It had been so hard to restrain from physical contact, yet to Margaret it felt as though they were back on that platform all those months ago. She felt just as apprehensive as she had then, yet there was a familiarity there too.

Margaret found her breath hitched unexpectedly as a wave of nerves washed over her, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She had been told a little of what to expect of this night from Edith, but nothing particularly detailed. She understood the basic mechanics of the act and some of the biological differences between a man and a woman. Surely that could not be all there was to it?

"Margaret." John called to her softly when he realised she had turned white. "We don't have to-"

His concern warmed her heart; she had heard tales of men who were not so gentle with their wives. She did not think John capable of such brutish behaviour, yet she had little idea of what to expect of this - their first night together in the marriage bed.

"The marriage must be consummated, that much I understand." Margaret told him, moving to sit on the end of the bed.

"You know that I- that I have never.." John began to stutter. He took a deep breath to compose himself. "I have never been with a woman."

Margaret could not help but smile at that. It had never been appropriate for her to ask such a question, yet she had longed to know the answer. She did not think him capable of romancing women, though she knew men were allowed far more liberties when it came to the pursuit of lust. John did not seem the type to indulge in such immoral activities. Knowing that they were both coming to this - whatever it was - on a level footing eased Margaret's fractious mind a little.

"I had certainly hoped that that was the case, but I did not know for sure. I know the rules for men and women in that matter are not the same." Margaret studied her hands intently, her cheeks on fire with embarrassment. "I feel mortified at this conversation."

John took her hand in his. Margaret was surprised to see that his hands were trembling slightly. She had never anticipated that he would feel scared too.

"We have to discuss it, Margaret. It will never go further than this room. We are taught to be ashamed of everything to do with our bodies yet we are still expected to carry out the acts they are designed for. How ridiculous that we are expected to know what to do without ever being told."

"Is this our wedding night or a lecture on society's morals?" Margaret joked, though her voice shook as she spoke. "I am sorry, I really am dreadfully nervous."

"Perhaps if we discuss with each other what we - what we know." John said softly, tracing one finger down her cheek.

"I think I would die of embarrassment!" Margaret protested, the idea of talking of such things to a man unthinkable.

"I want to know what you know already. I don't want anything to come as a shock to you."

"Turn around." Margaret commanded him.

He looked at her with a frown. She shrugged, gesturing with her hand that he should turn. He stayed resolutely where he was.

"What?" He questioned her, looking at her as though she were quite mad.

"Turn around! I can't speak of these things with you looking at me." Margaret insisted, placing her hands on his shoulders and trying to turn him. He would not move, so she gave in and sat down on the bed in defeat.

He looked at her curiously, unsure what was going through his bride's mind. He relinquished; knowing he would never win this argument.

"Fine, I'll turn around but I'm coming to sit beside you first."

He settled next to her on the bed, turning his back as promised. Margaret took a deep breath.

"I know that I have - I know that you- Oh John I can't!"

Margaret had - like all respectable young ladies - been brought up with an almost overwhelming sense of embarrassment of her own body. It was not proper to ask questions, to acknowledge any sort of desire. That was not a woman's place.

"You understand that we fit together." John said, still facing away from her. "That I am designed to fit inside of you."

"Yes. I understand that you must put your - yourself in me." Margaret spoke so quietly that John could barely hear what she was saying. He shifted closer to her, reaching out blindly behind him to make sure he did not fall into her.

"Do you know what to expect?" John asked.

Margaret turned her head to look at him; he was, as he had promised to be, facing away from her. She took a deep breath and drew her knees up onto the bed and half crawled to be closer to him. She did not know why, but in that moment she wanted to be close to him. She sat facing his back, her hand resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His own hand rose up to hold hers, though he kept his word and did not turn around.

"Edith said it hurt terribly." Margaret told him.

"It might, for the first few times. I fear I know little more about it than you. My mother told me a little when I was much younger, the cold facts of it all. She said she didn't want me getting myself into trouble and that I ought to know what not to do. We aren't quite so prudish as you Southerners."

Margaret almost laughed at that.

"I think you must be as the whole of Milton will fall into a whirl gossip about the slightest eye contact between a man and a woman!"

He chuckled, his rich, throaty laughter filling the awkward silence.

"Perhaps it is just my mother, then. You know she is not one to shy away from being blunt with the truth. Let's not discuss my mother on our wedding night, anyway. What - what do you understand about what we will do tonight?"

"I understand that it is my duty as a wife to please you, to make sure that you are satisfied. In all things." Margaret added; though she was not educated in what satisfaction in the physical area really involved.

John shook his head.

"I want to please you too, Margaret. You know how a child is made, but that is not all there is to the matter. I've - I've read books, books that are not fit for a woman's eyes but-"

"Books?" Margaret interrupted with wide eyes. She had not known that such things were written about. "May I see?"

"They are not proper for a lady's reading, believe me."

Margaret did not know what to say to that. She really knew very little about what went on between man and wife. Men seemed most enthusiastic about it all; she had heard whispers of men behaving improperly with women who were not their wives. What could be so good about it that they would break the sanctity of God's holy union? Edith had told her how important it was to make sure he did not stray from her, yet she could not believe a physical act could overrule the love that they shared.

"Will you tell me what to do?" Margaret asked, worrying her bottom lip. "You won't laugh at me?"

"Laugh at you? I would never. I don't think I have ever seen you this unsure of anything, love." John turned around then, taking her hand in his. "We don't have to do this."

She took a deep breath and kissed him.

"Can I undress you?" John asked breathlessly after several minutes had passed.

"Yes."

Margaret stood up, and gestured to the back of her dress. The buttons were undone, yet the arduous task of unlacing the corset beneath loomed ahead.

"I don't suppose you've ever unlaced a corset before?" Margaret asked, wondering if perhaps she should call for Dixon after all.

"At the drapers, once. Not on a woman though of course. I did not deal with the ladies, it was just to test that the fastenings were strong before we put it for sale."

Margaret tried to ignore the fact he was now standing behind her, tracing a finger softly from the nape of her neck down to the line of her corset. She felt her breath catch; it was as if he was leading a trail of fire down her skin. She tried to continue the conversation in a normal voice, though her voice was unsteady and a little shrill.

"I can assure you my corset is strong. Edith encouraged Dixon to lace me in far too tightly this morning. The dress does look better with a smaller waist but I've been uncomfortable all day. Any butterflies I may have had in my stomach have been crushed, surely."

"I don't know how you women can wear them."

"Neither do I sometimes. It can be agony."

"I'm sure you are beautiful without it."

Margaret said nothing in reply as he pushed the dress off her shoulders and she slipped her arms out of the sleeves. She pulled the dress over her head, folding it neatly and placing it on the back of the chair. The room was warm, a fire burning merrily in the grate, but her arms were covered in goosebumps. John made quick work of unlacing her corset; it was not as complicated to take off as it was to put on. She almost cheered to be free of the restrictive boning, finally feeling able to breathe properly for the first time all day. Taking the corset off and placing it with her dress, Margaret removed the large petticoat about her waist and her bloomers, until she was standing just in her chemise. She did not take off the last item, feeling exposed enough while John stood there fully dressed.

"Are you alright?" John asked, holding out a hand to draw her back to him. "Are you cold?"

"No." Margaret said. "I just - this is the first time I have undressed in front of you."

"You're not worried what I might think of you, are you?" He asked with a frown.

Margaret knew that fashion demanded women be as small and as curvaceous as possible; the welts on her side from the corset was evidence enough of that. Yet she was concerned that, once bare, she would not fit John's perception of the ideal woman. It was silly; she had never had such vain thoughts before. To not be enough for him, to disappoint him in any way at all - she had never cared so much about anything.

"I am not usually a vain person, John, but I suppose I am a little anxious. I have heard that I must please you in all ways and I fear I will not." Margaret admitted.

"You could never displease me. I worry too that I will never be good enough for you-"

"You are." Margaret interrupted him. "These past few weeks, getting to know you better - it has all been more than I could have hoped for."

"I am glad. Look at us both, we do make a pair. As cautious and unsure as a foal finding its feet."

Margaret was surprised that he felt as hesitant as she did; she had never imagined him to be unsure in anything that he did. He had always had such an air of authority about him, even when things did not go his way. It gladdened her that he could talk to her about his true feelings; he had done so often in the past, but she knew that men could carry themselves with bullish bravado in situations such as these. Pride was the curse of men, but John had never been one to put his own pride before the truth.

"Perhaps if you were to undress as well, I would feel less exposed." Margaret suggested boldly, though the flush on her cheeks gave away that she was not as brave as she made out.

"Whatever my wife commands."

Margaret sat down on the bed, watching as John removed his jacket and waistcoat, and untied his cravat. He hung up the jacket and waistcoat in the wardrobe; Margaret was not surprised that he was as neat and meticulous in his undressing as he was in all other aspects of his life. He paused at the collar of his shirt, and she wondered if he was as nervous at the thought of showing his body as she was.

He undid the buttons slowly, not meeting her eyes. He finished unbuttoning his shirt but did not remove it, instead sitting beside her on the bed. They sat in silence, though he reached to take her hand. He hesitated, then placed it over the left side of his chest. Margaret could feel his skin was burning hot, his heart hammering wildly beneath her palm.

"I didn't think I would feel like this." John admitted softly. "I have dreamt of having you, of knowing you in every possible way for so long. Almost as long as we have known each other. I am sorry for saying so, I know it is lust, and that is a sin. Now the time comes and we are finally allowed to be intimate - to know each other as man and wife. I feel like a schoolboy trembling as I am."

Margaret felt her cheeks flame once more - she was growing so hot that she was sure she would melt away! - at his words. He had never been a man to hide his thoughts or feelings, but to hear him speak so frankly was unusual. She had never heard a man discuss carnal urges, yet to hear John's longing for her - it made her feel less shame for her own physical yearning.

"I do not know how to proceed. I do not want to appear wanton. I do not want you to think less of me."

"You think I would?" John asked, taking her hands in his. He pressed them to his lips and held them there silently. She stared at him, wondering how to proceed. He was so tender, so gentle with her that she felt as though she would weep. "You think I could think of anything other than love for you?"

"If I lowered your opinion of me.." Margaret began, though the words trailed away.

John placed her hands between the two of them, clasping them even more tightly than he had been before. It was as though he was clinging to her, somehow afraid she would vanish. His thumb stroked her hand feverently, the rapid motion in great contrast to the calm, measured tone of his voice.

"There is nothing you could do now to make me think anything other than how lucky I am to have you as my wife. I want to please you, I want to make love to you. I want to speak frankly and honestly to you about my desire for you and have you as my partner in all things. I want to say to hell with everything we've ever been taught, to hell with the shame and guilt. I am a man and you are a woman, let us be together and not feel hatred for our urges."

"Gosh." Margaret blinked.

"I want to touch you." John finished, his eyes lowered as though he were embarrassed. For the first time, Margaret was sure she could see a hint of a blush on his cheeks, cheeks she was certain had never blushed before.

"I want to touch you as well." Margaret whispered. "I have longed to."

"Then touch me." John murmured, his mouth on hers before she could reply.

She met his kiss, her hands moving to touch his neck. She stroked the soft skin there, her spare hand moving of its own accord to push his shirt down. He took his arms out of the sleeves, pulling her tightly to him when free of the restriction.

The skin of his chest was red hot, as though he were burning under her touch. She knew the male body differed from the female - she had seen the hair on his chest through the top of his shirt before. She had even touched his bare skin before, in one of those rare moments that they had spent completely alone together. It felt strange to feel the skin of his chest with no restraint, to see the contours of his torso, lean and lythe through his years of hard work and little food. He moved to kiss her neck. Margaret felt dizzy.

His hands were in her hair, removing the pins that held it in place clumsily and with haste, his face still buried in the crook of her neck. Her hair tumbled down her back, the discarded pins clattering to the floor. He moved to her lips, kissing her so hard she was sure she would bruise. She did not care. He caught her hair in his hands, grasping the back of her head and pulling her even closer to him. She could hardly breathe with the force of his kisses, his desperation for her clear for even a novice such as herself to see.

His hand moved to the shoulder of her chemise. He pulled away as his fingers pushed the strap down, his eyes darker than Margaret had ever seen them. He was breathing raggedly, his shoulders heaving with the effort. His hand stopped, holding the fabric halfway down her upper arm.

"Are you quite well?" She queried, her thumb stroking his cheek.

"I have never felt better." He told her in a hoarse whisper. "In all my life, I have never felt so-"

"Alive." Margaret finished, for she felt exactly the same.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret and John consumate their marriage (contains sexual content)

“Are you quite well?” She queried, her thumb stroking his cheek.

“I have never felt better.” He told her in a hoarse whisper. “In all my life, I have never felt so-”

“Alive.” Margaret finished, for she felt exactly the same.

He nodded, his hands still lingering over the straps. He could not seem to move, frozen as he lay on top of her. He moved back, kneeling between in the space between her legs. Margaret shuffled back, sitting up and watching him. 

He frowned as she moved as well. She lay down against the pillows, and John followed her. Lying beside her propped up on his elbow, he raised his hand to brush hair from her face. He ran his thumb over her cheek, brushing her swollen lips and tracing a line down her neck. Every touch, slow and deliberate, made her shiver. He flattened his palm just below her collarbone.

“Your heart’s racing.” He said.

“It is beating so fast I am surprised you cannot hear it.” Margaret whispered. 

“Can I remove your chemise?” John asked, his fingers once again at the strap of her gown. “Please?”

Margaret nodded, though the thought of being completely bare before this man frightened her - just a little. She did not want to be frightened; there was nothing to fear. Some men may be brutish with their wives to satisfy some base desire that Margaret knew nothing of, but John was as tender as he always was.

Margaret stood up, taking a deep breath. She would be brave; she would show him that she desired him just as much as he desired her. She caught the strap in her hand and pulled it down, slipping her arm through the hole. She did the same with the other side, biting her lip as the garment fell from her body and pooled around her ankles.

She was as bare as Eve.

“Margaret.” He said breathlessly, his eyes never leaving her. “You are the most beautiful thing I have seen in my life.”

“I am cold.” Margaret said, for want of anything else to say.

He stood, closing the space between them and taking her in his arms. He did not kiss her, yet held her so tightly against him that she could not possibly be cold. His hands settled in the small of her back, caressing her skin in languid upward strokes. She felt small against him, his height never more noticeable than it was now. She rested her face against his bare chest, her arms trapped between them both.

“John.” She said against his chest after a moment had passed. “You are still clothed.”

“Very astute, Mrs Thornton.” She felt the warm rumble of his voice vibrate in his chest.

“I am not.”

“I had noticed, love.”

“May we even the ground between us a little?” Margaret asked. “It hardly seems fair.”

“Aye, it doesn’t.” He said with a smile, stepping back. He kissed her softly, just once, before turning to undo his trousers.

Margaret sat on the bed, unsure where she should look. He turned to her.

“You’ve never seen a man, have you?”

“Of course not!” Margaret exclaimed with wide eyes, feeling her face turn red in the darkness.

“I wasn’t implying that you had, I just - I look different to you. I wanted to make sure you knew that, so you aren’t - shocked.”

“Is it so shocking?” Margaret asked, trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know about shocking but - when men are - attracted to a woman, it grows larger. I understand that it might be a bit intimidating, not that I am-.Give me your hand.” John told her, stammering helplessly as he tried to explain. She held her hand out to him, her wrist in his grasp. He pushed his trousers off, and Margaret’s eyes widened. His hand over hers, he pressed her palm beneath his hips.

The flesh that she was touching was hot, and hard. She had not been expecting it to be so hard, or so strangely smooth. She did not know what she had been expecting, but it was not this. She looked down, curious to see what such a thing would look like. Though she knew a little about the anatomy of a man, she did not know that it changed at all. How little she knew, she thought. How little she understood.

“Oh.” Margaret said.

He snatched his hand away, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment. She had never thought John was a man who gave any credit to feeling embarrassed, yet she had managed to mortify him. She tried to keep her eyes on his face and her gaze away from - from that. She did not want him to feel shame, not because of her - not because of this, this most precious intimacy which seemed so delicious to her already. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” John began, 

“It is not what I expected. Please, be patient with me John. I do not know anything of how to be a lover, of how to please you.”

“And I know little of how to please you.” John told her. “I want to make you happy, love.”

“You make me happy every day. It is not my happiness that is important here, is it? If we want children, it is-” She cleared her throat, feeling indelicate even discussing it. “It is you that must be satisfied.”

“Margaret, only men who are selfish idiots do not care about their wife’s happiness.”

“I can assure you I will be quite alright.” Margaret said, suddenly realising she had been conducting a conversation completely in the nude. She covered her breasts with her arm, then realised that - she wanted John to see her. “John, I am most confused indeed. I do not know what I want.”

John walked to the other side of the bed, pushing back the covers and getting in bed. He held out a hand to Margaret, who joined him in their marriage bed. The sheets were cool, refreshing against burning skin. He turned to her, his hand resting on her waist. He ran his fingers along the length of her torso, fingertips ghosting along her ribcage and up over her breasts. When he touched her there, her breath suddenly became shaky. Her heart raced, her skin tingling wherever he made the slightest contact.

“Allow me to kiss you, like before. Perhaps if we just allow ourselves a little time to get used to each other. Though I hope I never take seeing you like this for granted. You are incredibly beautiful, Margaret.”

“As are you.” Margaret said, her hand on his chest once more. She idly stroked the hair on his chest, until she realised it was a little strange to treat her husband as though he were a dog.

“Men aren’t meant to be beautiful.”

“Aren’t they? What of David, by Michaleangelo? He is a man, and is considered to be one of the most exquisite artworks the world has ever known.”

“Are you comparing me to a statue?” John asked in amusement.

“Not quite. The statue probably smiles more.” She teased him.

“Why, you cheeky..” He grabbed her playfully, rolling her so she was pinned beneath him. He kissed her soundly, his hand cupping her cheek. She squeaked in surprise, giggling against his lips. The awkwardness between them had vanished, and though she could feel his arousal pressing against her hip, she put it from her mind. For now, she was just a woman kissing her husband. Whatever was to come, she trusted him implicitly.

“Can I touch you?” He asked hoarsely after many minutes had passed. “Lower?”

A jolt ran through her; she was not sure if it was fear or something else entirely, something she had never felt before. It was thrilling - his words thrilled her, that was the only feeling she could name. 

“Yes.” She whispered, her hands grasping his bare shoulders. He draped his arm over her back, pulling her closer.

He ran his hand down her back, tracing the curve of her spine as she clung to him. She shivered, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He groaned as she kissed him as he had done to her, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. 

“I love you.” He told her. “I love you with all that I am.”

“I love you. Husband.”

John groaned at the sound of his new title, kissing her with a feverish need that took her quite by surprise. His hands roamed her body with a new urgency, skimming over her stomach and up to her chest. He hesitated then, though the intensity his kisses did not change. His hand did not quite touch her where she willed him to, resting instead on her collarbone. She willed herself to be brave and placed her own hand over his, leading it down towards the curve of her breast.

“I will not break.” She murmured against his lips. “You may touch me there.”

“I know you are no fragile doll, Miss Hale.” He said, his voice strained. “Mrs Thornton. I am not sure I shall ever grow used to that. I just - I’ve wanted this for so long. I want to savour every moment of it.”

“Did you - did you imagine tonight?” Margaret asked him, running her hand up and down the length of his torso. She wanted to touch lower, but instead swirled her fingertips down the top of his thigh. He inhaled sharply as she did so, and she wondered if it was unpleasant.

“Over and over.” John told her. “It’s a miracle I’ve gotten any work done at all, I’ve thought of you so often.”

“Do I - is it - am I - how you imagined?”

“Far better.” John told her. “You are heaven.”

They kissed for a long time, and Margaret greatly enjoyed being free to kiss him as she had always longed to. There was no more fear that they would be interrupted, or seen. This was their bedroom, and this was their wedding night. A sacred thing that was just theirs, never to be spoken of or shared with another person.

As John kissed her, he became bolder. Though he did not speak, his hands moved from their place either side of Margaret’s head. As they lay side by side, he traced a path down from her collarbone to her hip. He was gentle, so gentle that Magaret felt as though she were being tickled. It was not unpleasant, and she found being touched in that way made her breath hitch.

John’s hand did not move back towards her chest; instead, he continued to move down. Margaret felt panic bubble in her chest, though she did not say anything. His hand reached the most private of places, stroking downwards. His touch, when it came, was hesitant, stumbling. She did not miss his sharp intake of breath when he finally touched her where she wanted him to. If he was strange to her, she must have been strange to him in turn. He was not confident in his movements and began to move away. Without thinking she grabbed his wrist and held him there.

“Oh Margaret.” He shuddered against her. “You will surely be the death of me.”

Margaret felt overwhelmed with his love for her; she did not know how to show him that she felt the same. She wanted more than anything to make him feel just as she did, to make him feel as though he would drown - just as she did. His fingers continued to touch her, a feeling she was quite unfamiliar with washing over her. It was wonderful, it felt wonderful. Her hand touched his hip, edging downwards so that she might touch him in the same way.

“May I -”

“Yes.” He answered without a pause. “God, yes.”

He guided her with his free hand, showing her how to hold the length of him in her hand. 

“Is that-” Margaret asked, making a fist with her hand. 

“Not too tight.” He said in a strained voice.He corrected her grip, her hand more relaxed. “Just move- move your hand up and down, not too fast.”

She moved her hand tentatively, slowly up and down as he had told her. He cried out, his voice strangled. She instantly sprang backwards, terrified she had hurt him. He pulled her to him, his lips on hers. He rolled her beneath him, his hand still between her legs.

“God.” He muttered against her neck. “Please - I don’t think I can stand it much longer.”

“What?” Margaret asked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Please can I be inside you?” He asked, sounding so ridiculously polite that Margaret laughed. She could see his scolding frown even in the little light there was left coming from the fire, and she bit her tongue. “Margaret. Don’t laugh, it isn’t funny.”

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to. It just sounds so very strange!”

“It might be strange for the first few times. But God Margaret I want you so desperately. Feeling you touch me, as I dreamed of- it is a shameful thing but I thought of you so often, just as you are now. Of how I would take you, make you my wife-”

His words astounded Margaret - he was speaking so fast, it was as if he were crazed with lust. Yet it inflamed something in her, a feeling that would not go away. She needed him, she needed him to be as close to her as possible. Thoughts of pain or of dishonour were gone now, and though she did not know what she was really asking for - she needed him.

“Then take me.”

He groaned, kissing her so hard that her lips would surely bruise. He adjusted his weight on top of her, moving her leg with his hand. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever terrible pain would come next.

“Are you ready?” He asked, finding her hand and threading his fingers through hers. “If you aren’t ready, I don’t have to-”

“I am as ready as I shall ever be.” Margaret said quietly, feeling her heart in her throat. “Just - please, be as gentle as you can.”

He kissed her forehead, and Margaret could not help but squeeze her eyes shut. She did not know what to expect; it felt as though she were standing on a cliff edge about to dive forward, not knowing if she would find clear water or jagged rocks when she landed.

She held her breath, and as she had been expecting there was a sharp pain as he entered her. She gripped the sheets in her hand, so tightly she was sure it would tear.

“Margaret.” John whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Margaret, are you well?”

“I think so. It hurts a little.”

“I need to - I need to move. If the pain is too great, I will not” He told her, his voice sounding a little strangled. “You feel incredible.”

“It feels strange.” Margaret said, opening her eyes. Even in the little light they had, she could see the concern in his eyes. It took her breath away, and she took his face in her hands. “You are the most wonderful man, John.”

“No man was ever luckier than I, Margaret.” His lips met hers, and he moved his hips with a groan. 

Margaret gasped; there was still pain, but something else too. Pleasure, she supposed. It was not strong enough to grasp hold of, but it was there. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Do it again.”

John did as she commanded, his hips meeting hers. He did not stop, continuing to move at an increasing pace. Margaret could not catch her breath, a tingling sensation shooting all over her body. It was wonderful; she held him close, her fingertips digging against his skin just to have something to hold onto. His pace quickened, and he suddenly buried his face between her neck and the pillow and made the most extraordinary noise. It was almost a shout, muffled but loud enough that Margaret wondered if he was alright.

His hips stilled, and he propped himself up on his forearms. He moved his hips, and Margaret felt him leave her.

“Is it- over?” Margaret asked.

“I’m sorry.” He panted. “I - Christ, Margaret. You are the most incredible woman in the world.”

He rolled off her, settling by her side and pulling her to lie flat on top of him, as he had been on top of her. Margaret was not sure what she should do with her legs. There was a mess that she was too embarrassed to mention, but he did not seem to care. She wondered if she was heavy to him.

“I love you John.”

His eyes were closed, but he smiled broadly.

“I love you, darling.” John murmured, his voice growing tired. 

“I am sorry if I was not-” Margaret began, a blush creeping over her cheeks.

He woke up then, his hand caressing her cheek. His thumb rubbed over her cheekbone, then her lips.

“Don’t. No apologies, we’re not starting all that. Promise me, Margaret, here we will be honest with each other, always. No apologies for our behaviour, unless you should slap me or the like. But when we love each other as we just have - no apologies.”

“You say I am an incredible woman, John. I think you are the most extraordinary man. You shall make the finest husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, that was a bit different for me. This isn't turning into a sexy story (to be honest, I'm not sure how sexy that was). I hope that was alright, I know it was a little stilted in places but..they're Victorian virgins! What do you expect, honestly. I wanted to keep it as realistic as possible to capture the nerves, the uncertainty. I kept thinking, imagine going into your wedding night knowing literally nothing about sex. It would be terrifying right?! Anyway. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a comment/review on FF.net where there is currently a holding chapter directing you here as I don't want to change the rating. This will be the only place the wedding night chapter is published.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

John woke early, as he had done since he was a child. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had slept soundly and dreamlessly, not stirring for the entire night. His body felt refreshed, his mind alert even half asleep. It was as though something heavy had been lifted from his shoulders.

He turned his head. To see Margaret asleep peacefully beside him was better than anything he could have hoped for. What a fool he was to have insisted on returning to work today. He wanted to do nothing else but lie beside her all day, talking and - not talking.

He did not want to wake her, yet he needed to hold her against him to ensure that this was real. He had dreamt of her often enough when they were apart. Waking in the morning to find an empty bed was torturous. Now his bed would never be empty again.

He moved closer to her, and she shifted in her sleep to curl against him. He held her tightly, her back against his chest. She was so warm, and molded to his body perfectly. How on Earth would he find the strength to leave this bed and go to work, he did not know.

"Good morning." She muttered, and he jumped a little at the sudden sound of her voice. "Husband."

That word still sounded glorious to him. His arms tightened around her; she laughed throatily, wriggling against him to loosen his grasp. He closed his eyes, willing himself to have some self control.

"Wife. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you so early. I have to go, I get up before five each morning to go to the mill. You do not have to."

"I wish you had allowed us at least a day for a honeymoon of sorts." She mumbled, her eyes still shut. "I don't want you to go."

"I have to, love. I will be back this evening."

"Stay." Margaret urged him, shuffling closer to him and draping a leg over him.

They had both fallen asleep before dressing for bed, and the feel of her bare skin against his was too much. She was a wicked temptress indeed, and if John didn't know better he would say she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Margaret." He groaned pulling her closer. "I must go."

"It would not matter if you were an hour late, would it?" She yawned as she ran a hand up and down his back. "Your men will make sure things run smoothly, I'm sure they will understand."

John chuckled at that.

"Aye, I think they'll understand exactly why I'm late and I'll never hear the end of it." He said wryly, running a hand up her back and running his fingers through the ends of her hair. It was in a wild tangle, his fingers getting caught in the strands. Margaret helped him free himself and sat up, the sheet falling away and leaving her bare.

"John, I will not ask this of you again but please - forget the mill, just for an hour. Stay here with me, in our warm bed. Hold me just a little longer, do not run off so quickly the day after our wedding."

She curled into him, her face resting on his chest. He held her tightly, relenting to at least a few more moments of this bliss.

"Are you well?" He asked, breaking the hazy silence that had washed over them. "It wasn't - unpleasant for you, last night?"

"Not unpleasant at all. In fact, I rather enjoyed it." She said in a faraway voice as she drifted between sleep and consciousness.

His heart leapt in his chest; he had certainly revelled in her body last night, and it made him unspeakably happy to know that she had welcomed his touch. He wanted her to want him, to need him in the exact way he desperately craved her. Perhaps it was too much to ask; sometimes all he could think about was her, and now he had known her in the most intimate way possible his thoughts were bound to be even more consumed. Margaret seemed too clever to be overtaken by such crass physical desires.

"Say things like that and I'll never leave this bed again." John held her tighter, kissing the bare skin of her shoulder.

"And if that is what I want?" Margaret asked quietly, opening her eyes and smiling up at him. "If all I want is to be close to you in that way, constantly, over and over?"

For the first time in his life, John was late for work.

He did not miss the poorly disguised giggles from the girls at their looms as he walked through the mill that morning. He was very late indeed, it was gone eight by the time he arrived. He did not grow angry at their childish impertinence, but there was no time for gossiping and he had no patience for it. There were still several large orders to be completed and the workers needed to be focused. Distractions caused accidents. He worked hard to keep the mill as safe as possible, but when the workers acted like fools there was always trouble.

"Something funny?" He asked, stopping beside them.

The two girls were about sixteen, and had worked for him for a good many years. They were renowned gossipers, but they did their jobs well and arrived on time. They both had the decency to look down at the ground, wringing their hands with embarrassment.

"No, Master."

"Eyes on your work, I'll not tell you again."

The working day had never felt longer. He caught glimpses of Margaret that morning as he went about the place. He cursed himself for not giving them a honeymoon; how wonderful it would be to have her all to himself, with no responsibility or cares just for a few weeks.

Summer in the mill was a tricky time; the warm temperatures outside meant that the inside of the mill became suffocatingly hot. Workers grew faint and sick often, leading to mistakes that could be catastrophic. John could not afford to take his eye off things; no matter how well his personal life was going, it could not infiltrate his business.

Yet somehow all he could think of was Margaret. The events of the previous night ran through his mind constantly, most distractingly indeed. The scent of her skin, the curve of her hips - it was sinful and it was all consuming.

By the time the last whistle went for the end of the day, John did not understand how he'd managed to get any work done at all.

"Evening, Mother." John said, pecking her cheek. "How are you?"

"I'm well. Fanny was going to join us but is not feeling up to the way she behaves, you'd think she was the first woman to ever carry a child."

"And I'm sure when the child is here it will be the most wonderful creature who has ever lived."

His mother merely smiled, continuing with her mending.

"Every mother thinks their child is the most wonderful. I remember looking at you when you were tiny, just staring at you for hours. Margaret will be the same when the time comes." She told him.

"Talk of children already?" John asked, pouring himself a brandy. "It's only been a day. Where is Margaret? I've not seen her since this morning. School was finished by the time I went out in the yard this afternoon."

"She went to say goodbye to her cousin a few hours ago. Her aunt left before lunchtime with that stone faced lawyer that traipses after them all, but her cousin and her husband stayed for the day to see the school and such. She's a little more tolerable than that Mrs Shaw, though her head seems to be in the clouds."

"Aye, Edith is a good sort." John agreed, taking a seat. "As different to Margaret as chalk and cheese."

"It was a lovely wedding. I must have been stopped half a dozen times on my way to Fanny's house, all telling me how wonderful it was."

"Thank you for all you did, Mother. It was a perfect day."

"Margaret ought to know the running of things, you know, John. That maid of hers is already getting up the other's noses, she needs to learn her place."

"She will, give her a chance. It's a big adjustment but please, no bickering. I cannot bear it. The servants will have to learn to get on or they can find employment elsewhere. Margaret wants Dixon here and so she will have her, there isn't going to be a discussion about that."

"A servant shouldn't have such a sense of self importance, John. She does not know her place, such airs and graces have no place in service."

"Mother, please. Margaret is very fond of her, and she has no family here."

"What are we, spare parts? She's part of this family now John."

"Mother, can we discuss this another time?" John asked, rubbing at his temple. "It's been a long few days and I've no wish to argue over servants. I'm going to my study to read, can you ask Margaret to come and see me when she's back?"

"Very well." His mother said. "I hope she's back before dark or you'll have to go fetch her, she shouldn't walk alone at night."

John mumbled an agreement and walked to his study, sitting down at the desk. He had been reading Plato again; he came back to it time and time again. He opened it at a random page, knowing the words inside so well that he no longer needed to mark his place at any particular passage.

A little while later, there was a gentle tap at the door.

"Come in."

"Good evening." Margaret came in. "Mr Thornton."

She had just come in from outside; her shawl was still about her shoulders, her hat in her hand. He wondered if she had been desperate to see him as he had been to see her, given that she had not even taken the time to hang her hat up before coming to his study.

"Mrs Thornton." He nodded to her, placing the book down.

"How was your day?" She asked, closing the door behind it.

She did not move from where she stood; John wondered if she was feeling a little awkward. It was strange, even as they spent more time around one another they still danced around each other at times. He remembered the days when he would feel desperation just to catch a glimpse of her; some of that trepedation still remained.

"Long and dull. I thought of you all day."

"I thought of you too." Margaret admitted. "It was rather distracting. Edith asked me a question four times before I heard her. She was quite amused at how scatterbrained I have become."

"I do not think Edith is in any position to accuse you of being scatterbrained. Have they gone?"

Margaret nodded. She placed her hat on his desk, stopping to run her finger down the spine of Plato, which lay splayed on the desk where John had put it down. She smiled as she did so, thinking of her father.

"Yes, they caught the train about two hours ago. I was just at my house, tidying things away. I shall rent it out when I have taken everything of mine out of it. I do not have much of course, just my clothes and a few trinkets. I do not want to impose."

"Impose? Margaret, this is your home now." John stood and caught her waist, pulling her close to him. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. "We'll never be apart again."

"God willing." Magaret said, her own arms coming to rest around him. "How strange to be married. Life continues as it always has done, yet everything is so different somehow."

John stepped back, taking her left hand in his and staring down at the gold band on her ring finger. He ran his thumb over it, hardly daring to believe it was real. He kissed her, his hand against her cheek holding her close.

"Were you very late this morning?" She asked when he had pulled away. There was a hint of a blush on her cheeks, a mischievous smile on her lips.

"Aye, by almost two hours. We'll not be able to do that again or the mill will fall apart around us."

He kissed her forehead, though he wanted to kiss her lips. It would not do to kiss her here; he would never want to leave this room.

"No, I promise I will never delay you again. I hope I did not ask too much of you." Margaret said, though the sparkle in her eyes showed no hint of remorse for her demands that morning.

"You may ask anything of me, wife." John murmured in her ear. "The only problem is that I am far too eager to say yes."

"I will never ask anything too much of you." Margaret told him, her hands running through his hair. "I am not the demanding sort."

"No, but you know exactly what you want. It's one of the many things I love about you, Margaret. The certainty of your mind."

"Some have called it stubbornness." She said. "It is not my best quality."

"I think it is. There are countless other things I love about you, but you are not afraid to speak your mind nor to stand up for what you believe is right. It is not an easy thing to do, especially as a woman."

"I was always encouraged to have an opinion." Margaret shrugged. Her face changed, her eyebrows raising as she remembered something. "Oh! I did not tell you, you shall never guess what I saw this morning."

"What?" John asked.

"When I was saying goodbye to Aunt Shaw, I saw Henry walking with Miss Latimer and her father."

"Did you indeed?" John raised an eyebrow. "Your matchmaking worked then."

"I don't know about that." Margaret said. "I am sure Henry has just made himself another business associate. He seems to think only in terms of money and connections sometimes. It is very dull indeed."

"I'm surprised he came to the wedding at all. He shook my hand a little too tightly."

He had been surprised to see Henry Lennox arriving at the church the previous day, though he welcomed him as he did the rest of the guests. The handshake between them had been almost bone crushingly hard, though perhaps John was just as guilty of that as Lennox.

"He is just rather severe is all. I do so wish the two of you would come to an understanding. He has helped me so much these past few months, I will forever owe him a debt of gratitude."

"Aye, I know. I know he tried to help your brother and he gave you sound advice too. So, they've all returned to London. I doubt your aunt will be a regular visitor."

"Oh, certainly not. As I waved goodbye she covered her mouth with her handkerchief as though all of Milton was diseased. She will follow Edith to Corfu, to see her through the birth. They are leaving at the end of the month, before she becomes too uncomfortable to travel."

"Not a bad idea, but it is very soon. I know you'll miss them." John said.

Margaret nodded, walking over to the tall bookcase John kept against the opposite wall. She ran her hand along the spines, and took a book out seemingly at random.

"Yes, but Edith is so very excited. And the weather will be wonderful for Sholto, I expect he shall spend all his days climbing trees while his governess chases after him." She flicked through the pages. "May I borrow this?"

"Of course, you don't need to ask. I can barely picture what it must be like in Corfu. I am not well travelled at all." John admitted.

He travelled often, but only to places that held his business interests. Manchester, London, Le Havre. None could be claimed to be places of particular beauty or anything other than practical people working hard to be successful. John had read of the Mediteranian in books, and of far away lands that he could not quite imagine. The white villas and piazzas sounded very different to the soot stained factories of Milton.

"Nor I. I have read of these places, and Aunt Shaw has spoken often of all the wonderful places. Corfu is in the Mediterranean of course. She says it has clear blue sea that sparkles as though it is made of sapphires."

"I have only ever seen the grey churning water of the Irish Sea, or the English Channel when I have been to France. I cannot imagine the sea being beautiful."

"The coast in Dorset is rather nice. It was not so far away from Helstone, and we would travel to Bournemouth sometimes for a short holiday. Frederick and I would run along the sand flying kites. We would dive into the waves even though Mama hated me getting wet. It was not ladylike." Margaret smiled. "Those were wonderful, carefree days."

"I envy your childhood. Mine was spent either at school or with my father, neither of which were much fun."

"You rarely speak of him." Margaret said.

"No, and I'd keep it that way." John said. "It - it is hard to speak of him in any way other than factually. His death changed everything, I suppose I'm bitter about it. It destroyed my mother, though she'd never say it."

"I am sorry you went through such misery." Margaret said, stroking his cheek with the very tips of her fingers.

"Talk to me about the New Forest. I saw a little from the train, but it looked like it went on forever."

"It does. Well, not forever, but it felt that way. There are ponies that live freely, though some let you touch them. Fred got bitten by one when he was eight and never went near them again." Margaret said with a laugh.

Her face shone when she spoke of her home and her family. As she spoke, John had an idea.

They would have a honeymoon after all.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains sexual content

John readied himself for bed, thinking over his plan. Was it really wise to take a honeymoon so soon after the reopening of the mill? His head was telling him no but his heart - his heart was telling him to savour this time with his new wife. They were newly married, when he was old and grey he would surely look back and curse his younger self for not revelling in Margaret while he could. 

Margaret opened the bedroom door, changed for bed with her long hair brushed and down from its pins. She smiled, a little nervously he thought, at him. She practically dove beneath the covers, tucking herself in up to her neck.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes I am fine.” Margaret said quickly. “I was just cold.”

“It is July.” John pointed out.

“I am still not used to the Northern summers. London is hardly exotic, but it is much warmer. Are you coming to bed?”

“Aye. How disappointing to not undress you, love.” He teased her.

Margaret’s face turned red almost instantly. It was quite remarkable how someone so seemingly confident could embarass so easily. He did not wish to cause her discomfort, yet he did not want to be afraid to voice their desires for one another.

“Dixon would feel quite redundant I am sure, if I emplored you of your services every night.” She replied with a smile.

John folded back the covers on his side of the bed - how funny that they had assigned sides of the bed without ever having had a discussion about it - and slipped in beside his wife. She found his hand with hers, holding it lightly.

“Goodnight, Margaret.” He turned to extinguish the lamp on his side of the bed. The room went dark, save for the dying embers of the fire. 

They lay in silence, hands entwined. John wanted to touch her, but stayed where he was. They had made love that morning, and the previous evening. She would think him a terrible fiend to keep making demands of her body. 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and willing sleep to come. It did not.

“John?” Margaret whispered in the darkness. “Are you awake?”

“No.” He replied in a low voice. “I am fast asleep.”

“I cannot sleep.” She replied, edging closer to him.

He could feel his heart racing as she draped an arm over him, her face resting against his chest. After a few moments, she shifted her body again to lie against him, her leg hooked over both of his. Her hand edged lower, to his considerable surprise, and pushed the hem of his nightshirt up. She rested her hand on his thigh.

“Margaret.” He groaned, not daring to move. He did not want to scare her away; to have her touch him so intimately and so unexpectedly was a marvellous thing indeed.

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t.” She whispered, though her hand did not move.

“You should.” He told her. “You should not feel ashamed to touch me, love. I am your husband, I will never think badly of you.”

“I am just - curious, in so many ways.” Margaret moved closer, her hand moving off his thigh and to safer territory of his arm. However, her body was half covering his. There was no possible way she could not feel his arousal; she was almost lying on top of it. “Tell me, what makes your body do that?”

“You.” He replied instantly, reaching for her face and pulling her rather roughly to his lips.

He kissed her hungrily, his hands roaming her body. She ignited something within him. Every brush of her skin against his sent pleasure through him, even the most innocent of touches drove him to madness when they were entangled like his. The weight of her body atop his was something he had never considered before, but now she was there, it felt strange to imagine never having known her in this way.

“I do not know what to do.” She murmured after a while, still balanced precariously half on and half off his body.

He shuffled slightly, bringing the rest of her in line with him. Their bodies were not the same length, obviously, and he could feel her toes resting on his shin. He held her tightly, burying his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder. He kissed her neck, darting his tongue over her smooth skin.

“John!” 

The sound of his name uttered so breathlessly combined with the sensation of her hips moving against his caused him to dig his fingers into her arm just to keep himself grounded. He released his grip instantly, mumbling apologies against her skin. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. You make me feel-” He could not find the words, his voice hoarse and rasping. “-knowing you like this, Margaret. It is better than I dared ever hope for.”

“I feel the same. I wonder how I will ever think of anything other than being close to you. All day, I thought of nothing but what it felt like to have you inside me.”

The words that she spoke so innocently were so utterly unexpected that John could do nothing but kiss her, his hands tangled in her hair with a desperate need. He sat up, pushing her backwards and gripping her hips so she sat on top of him. She squeaked with surprise, though did not break away from him. His fingers moved to the buttons of her nightgown, almost tearing them away with his desperation to feel her bare skin. 

She adjusted her legs, coming to kneel either side of him. Her hands pulled eagerly at his nightshirt, and they broke apart only to free themselves of their clothing. Finally, he pressed her to him, his hands in the middle of her back. He lay back down, lips against hers as feverently as before, pulling her to lie on top of him.

“John, please.” She urged him, his hand gripping the sheets as she moved to lie beside him. “Please.”

He moved to lie over her, his weight propped up on his forearms. He kissed her neck as he entered her, unable to keep himself from moaning as he did so. He was conscious of hurting her, all too aware that this was not as easy for her as it was for him. Their first time had been heavenly for him, and knowing it was not similarly pleasurable for her filled him with guilt. He would work for the rest of their lives to make her feel as he did.

He bit his lip, trying not to cry out. He had never known anything like this extraordinary pleasure. It was so strong that it almost hurt, and it took everything he had not to give in to it. Margaret made no sound beneath him, but stroked his hair softly. He nudged her hand down, kissing her fingers and holding her hand in his.

“Are you well?” He asked breathlessly.

“Yes.” She answered. “It does not hurt so much anymore. This morning it did a little. Now I can feel very little discomfort. It is still strange, but it does not hurt as such.”

Her voice was far steadier than his, giving nothing away. He worried that she was lying to him; perhaps she had been told never to voice her discomfort. He was not sure what advice she had been given, though the idea that she would try and disguise her true feelings to please him did not fit the Margaret he knew. 

“You’ll tell me, won’t you? If it is too awful, I will not-”

She pressed a finger to his lips. John kissed her once, then pressed his head against her shoulder. He needed to steady himself, he couldn’t look at her while he did that.

“You are worrying too much.” She whispered, and to John’s surprise she nipped his earlobe. It sent a shiver of pleasure straight through him, and he almost lost control. Margaret almost jumped back from him at the sound of his breath hitching, hastily apologising for biting him. “I’m sorry, I do not know what I was thinking.”

“No apologies.” He ground out, his hips moving against hers. “You do not need to apologise for that, believe me.”

There were no more apologies, and no more words. John could not let his lips leave hers, though he felt pleasure building and he knew he would not last long. Margaret’s breathing grew laboured, her hands clawing at his back. He could not stand it anymore, coming apart with a cry that he desperately tried to muffle in her hair.

He stayed where he was until his chest stopped heaving quite so painfully as he struggled for breath. He was aware he was barely supporting his own weight, and it was only the fear of crushing Margaret that made him roll off her. He lay staring at the ceiling; he could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

“That was wonderful.” Margaret whispered, curling against him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He said, kissing her hair. “I cannot believe we are here together like this.”

“Nor I, sometimes.” Margaret yawned. 

They fell asleep entwined with one another, their breathing falling perfectly in time. 

-

“Can you really afford to be away a whole week?” His mother asked the next morning over breakfast. 

Margaret was fast asleep uptairs; he had not attempted to wake her that morning. He was not sure he could have done even if he had tried, she was sleeping so deeply. His mother’s endless worrying irritated him greatly, though he could not tell her why. After the events of last night, he was even more determined to take his wife somewhere where they could be alone. Perhaps it did not make business sense, but there was a part of him that needed to get away from this place, just for a week, to spend time with her.

“It is usual practice to have a honeymoon, I’ll make sure everything is in place before we leave. It won’t be for another two weeks at least, I need to make the arrangements. It’ll take work to have everything run smoothly in my absence, but I’ll put the hours in. Remember, not a word to Margaret. Or Fanny, she can’t keep anything to herself and I want to surprise my wife.”

“Very well, I shan’t breathe a word of it. Will you take any servants with you?” His mother asked, adding milk to her tea.   
She ate very little at breakfast, but always drank several cups of tea. John was thankful that he could afford for her to eat as little or as much as she wished, and that her light appetite was due to habit rather than lack of food.

“No, I don’t think so. I can’t take the thought of Dixon glaring at me for a week. It is hardly a secret that she has never liked me much.” John said, stirring his tea.

His mother tutted, her eyes rolling. She had been a little out of sorts the last few days; tiredness from the wedding and the stress of taking care of Fanny and her endless demands, John suspected.

“I’ll hold my tongue, but you know what I think of her. You’ll need to tell the hotel to find you a local girl, Margaret will need help dressing.”

“Aye, I will.” John said, avoiding his mother’s eyes as he thought how much he had enjoyed undressing Margaret. He was perfectly capable of helping her dress. “I saw an advertisement for a hotel on the seafront not too long ago, in the Times. I tore it out and kept it, I am not sure what possessed me to do such a thing but it has proved for the best. I shall write to them. I best be off, I’ve a lot to do.”

He drained the last of his tea, though it was too hot to do so. Ignoring the burning in his throat, he stood up from the table. He walked away from his chair, leaning down to kiss his mother on the cheek as he passed by her.

“See you later.” He said. “Try and rest today, Mother. You look weary.”

“I am fine, John, do not worry about me. I thought perhaps Margaret and I could go for a walk together later. She is always walking, I should like to know what is so fascinating about the hills above the city.”

“I’m sure she would be happy for you to join her.” John said, pleased his mother was making an effort and taking an interest in Margaret’s day to day life. 

John left the house and closed himself in his office. He heard the whistle blow and the sudden roar of noise following it as the workers arrived at the mill. He would not be late again, he could not bear the gossip and lewd comments that surely followed his late arrival yesterday. He worked tirelessly that morning, looking over the accounts until the numbers blurred into one another hopelessly.

He wrote to the hotel with his requirements, sending the letter off with a dozen others that needed to be posted that day. He smiled to himself; he had never had a holiday. Though his mind swam with all that would need to be done before they left, he could not wait to share this experience with his wife.

-

John was behaving most strangely indeed. In the two weeks since their wedding, Margaret had hardly seen him. He worked from dawn until gone midnight some days, never stopping. Margaret had been busy with the school, and had started to plan and teach some lessons of her own. Yet when she came to tell her husband of her ventures, he was never there. He had even been working tirelessly on Sundays, missing church.

“John.” She sat up in bed one night as he crept in. “This is absurd.”

“What’s the matter?” John asked, his eyes widening in alarm. “You made me jump, I thought you’d be long asleep by now.”

Margaret huffed indignantly. John looked at her with a frown, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it in the wardrobe. The shadows under his eyes were darker than ever, and Margaret was sure his jaw line was even sharper than usual. She had not seen him eat, though she knew his mother sent food out for him in the evenings. He had been neglecting himself, she thought. 

“I have barely seen you! I find myself waking in the middle of the night just to check you are beside me!” She hissed, wary of speaking too loudly at such a late hour. “You haven’t been to dinner for a week, nor have you been in your office when I’ve come to look for you.”

“I’m sorry love, things have been-”

“Have I done something wrong?” Margaret interjected. “Have I - have I displeased you?”

“Displeased me? You could never.”

“Have I been too bold?” Margaret asked, chewing her lip with worry. “There was that night the week of our wedding where I touched you without asking if it was alright, perhaps that was the wrong-”

Margaret’s cheeks still burned thinking of that night, the day after they wed. She had practically launched herself at him, desperate with passion. She had felt quite mortified afterwards, with scarcely a notion of what had come over her.

“Margaret, you do not know how wonderful I found that evening.” John murmured, walking to the bed and sitting on the edge. He took her face in his hand, smiling as she leaned into his touch. “To know that you desire me as much as I desire you could never be wrong. I am sorry though, things have been busy. I’ve neglected you, and I am sorry for that. Believe me, I have not been trying to avoid you.”

Margaret moved to kneel behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. She was sure it was most inappropriate to drape herself over her husband in such a manner, yet she needed to hold him.

“I have missed you is all.” Margaret said, kissing his cheek and inhaling the smell of cotton that always clung to him. “I have been a little lonely these past few evenings.”

“I’ve missed you, love. I saw you teaching this morning as I walked through the yard. Where was Miss Williams?”

Margaret sat back on the bed, a smile pulling at her lips as she recalled her success at the school over the past weeks. 

“She has been letting me lead the sessions these past few days. I was going to tell you, but I could not find you when school finished. Where were you?” Margaret asked.

“I had a meeting that went on most of the day.” John said as he loosened his cravat. 

His eyes looked heavy in the dim light, shadows resting under his eyes. His hands moved slowly, his shoulders sagging. Margaret wondered how he could work so hard with such little rest for so long. She sat up straighter, moving to rest her chin on his shoulder. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, closing his eyes.

“You must be exhausted.” She mumbled into the cotton of his shirt. “You’ve barely been getting three hours sleep a night.”

“Aye, but I am happy to see you and talk with you and resist sleep a little longer. Tell me about your day.” He stood up and began undressing. 

“Well, it was not so exciting. Simple arithmetic was all we did this morning, though the children seemed quite interested. Oh John, it really is going so splendidly well. I did not think it would be so successful but the class is full to bursting now.”

“I’ve heard nothing but good things about it. The adults like knowing their bairns are close and staying out of trouble.”

“Well, they all seem happy enough. A little restless, maybe, by lunchtime but all well and good. What of your days?” Margaret asked. “What is keeping you so late? Is everything alright?”

She realised with a jolt of panic that perhaps it wasn’t just John’s unwavering work ethic keeping him away. Perhaps there was some disaster that he was not telling her about. He turned to look at her, and seeing the worry on her face he shushed her gently, kissing her forehead tenderly.

“It is nothing to be concerned about, Margaret. Things are just busy at the moment, that’s all. Finishing up orders, sending them out.” John shrugged. He stood and unbuttoned his shirt. Margaet watched, enjoying the glimpses of his skin. She had missed him greatly; he had barely touched her these past weeks, save for the occasional chaste kiss on the cheek while she drifted in and out of sleep late at night. As he pulled his arms free, he looked at her with amusement. “Margaret, stop it.”

“Stop what?” Margaret asked, jerking out of her thoughts of how she wanted to kiss the hollow between his throat and chest.

“Watching me with that look on your face. It is most distracting.” He said, the smile on his face telling her that he very much enjoyed her attentions.

“I am simply talking to you whilst you undress, is there something wrong with that?” Margaret asked innocently. “Though, I have missed you an awful lot, John. I’ve quite forgotten what you look like.”

“I’ve not forgotten what you look like.” John said as he kicked off his trousers. “I don’t think I could ever forget such beauty.”

Margaret smiled despite her annoyance. He was so vocal in his adoration of her that she scarcely knew how to respond. She felt the same, yet she could not tell him as easily as he seemed to vocalise his own feelings.

“You are trying to sweet talk me so I forget that you have scarcely given me the time of day for so long. John, you would tell me if there was a problem with the mill? You would not keep it from me?”

He pulled his nightshirt over his head, sitting down on the bed beside her. He watched her for a minute, his face unreadable. His eyebrow quirked a little, and Margaret knew that he had come to some decision in his mind. Her heart thudded against her ribs, she had no idea what he was thinking. He sighed, a smile spreading over his face as he took her hand in his.

“There is no problem. I suppose I should tell you the reason I have been so absent, as it is almost time. Tomorrow, we are going on our honeymoon.”

Margaret’s eyes widened. 

“Our honeymoon?! I thought there was no time for such a thing.”

John chuckled, leaning forward and running his thumb across her cheek. He gazed at her, and Margaret thought how much she loved the tiny crinkles around his eyes when he smiled.

“That’s why I’ve been so busy, making sure everything is in place. What good is a honeymoon if we come back to a mill in ruins?” 

John pulled back the covers and lay down beside her. He extinguished the lamp, holding his arms out to her and pulling her tight to him. She lay contentedly on his chest, enjoying the steady thud of his heart beneath her cheek.

“Where are we going?” Margaret asked after a while.

“I shall tell you tomorrow.” He said, his voice small as he neared slumber. “Go to sleep.”

“But the school room!” Margaret realised with alarm. “I cannot just leave Emma all alone with all those children! It will be madness!”

He shushed her, kissing her forehead in the darkness. 

“Everything has been arranged, love. Do not worry yourself.” He yawned, nuzzling his nose against her hair.

He was so extraordinarily affectionate when they were alone (well, in the little time they had spent alone since their wedding, thanks to his now explained absences).

“I had no idea!” Margaret murmured in wonder. “I thought I knew you so well!”

“I am glad I have managed to surprise you. You’re right though, I’ve been so focused on my work that I have forgotten you.”

“But it was for a kind reason. We do not have to have a honeymoon, if it would be so difficult for you. Are you sure it will be alright?” Margaret asked again. “Please, do not make things harder for yourself on my account.”

“Aye, everything is in place. Let me take you away, to fresh air and solitude. Just for a week.” He whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

“And you are sure you will not tell me where we are going?” Margaret asked, running a finger along his jaw. “Not even a small clue?”

“I shall tell you in the morning. Let me sleep, I shall need stamina for our honeymoon.” He said, closing his eyes and pulling her to him. 

 

A/N: Just a nice little fluffy chapter for you. I was feeling soppy when I wrote this I guess!


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Margaret was astounded to find the next morning that Dixon had already prepared her luggage. Three suitcases (it was nigh on impossible to travel lightly as a woman, thanks to the many layers required each day) neatly placed by the door of her dressing room ready to be taken down.

“I cannot believe everyone in this house knew about this except for me!” Margaret said as Dixon helped her dress for the day. 

“Mr Thornton wanted to surprise you, Mistress.” Dixon said with a small, quite reluctant smile. “It is rather romantic, I suppose.”

Dixon had seemed happier in the last few days; she had settled into her new role as Margaret’s maid, though Margaret was still not used to being called Mistress. That was her mother’s title, and it felt very strange indeed to have it bestowed upon herself now. 

“Yes, it is. I don’t suppose he told you where we are going?” Margaret asked mischievously, looking at Dixon in the mirror with raised eyebrows.

“None of that, Mistress. You know full well he wants it to be a surprise and I’ll not be the one to ruin it. Shall I lace you in a little looser this morning, so you are comfortable for your journey?” Dixon asked as she took hold of the laces on Margaret’s corset.

“Yes, please. Is it a long journey?” Margaret asked in an innocent voice.

Dixon pulled rather sharply on the lace of her corset. Margaret yelped in surprise, though it was little more than she deserved.

“Miss Margaret!” Dixon scolded her giving no thought to her new married title. She still, occasionally, spoke just as she had done when Margaret was a child, not yet in the habit of always addressing Margaret as the married woman she now was. “You are incorrigible! It is a rare man who would go to such lengths to surprise his wife, count your lucky stars.”

Margaret smiled at Dixon’s uncharacteristic defence of Mr Thornton; it was true that John had gone to great efforts these past weeks to conceal his plans, and Margaret was truly touched by the thoughtfulness. Yet - she had disliked being kept in the dark, wondering if she had done something to upset him. He had not realised how strange his behaviour had appeared, and Margaret hoped the next time he hoped to surprise her he would be at least a little more attentive.

“You are right, Dixon. I am still very surprised, I am just curious, that’s all. It is very thoughtful of him.” Margaret said, fixing a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun.

“Make sure whatever girl he’s hired to help you dress takes care with the buttons. I’ll not thank you if you bring back five broken dresses, Mistress.”

Dixon was possibly the only servant in England brave enough to make such demands of her employer, yet Margaret did not mind it. She was used to the woman’s manner, and in truth she had known her for so long that she scarcely noticed it any more. Mrs Thornton, however, did not share Margaret’s lenient attitude. Dixon did not say much around Mrs Thornton at all.

“I shall make sure she is careful, Dixon.” Margaret reassured her. “I shall bring you back something nice.”

“As long as it isn’t mending, I’ll be happy.” She grumbled as she fetched Margaret’s dress and helped her put it on. 

It was around eight o’clock in the morning, a surprisingly late start. John had taken a little more rest that morning, not leaving for the mill until just before six. He had overseen the workers coming in, but Margaret was pleased he had not forced himself to go to work hours before the first whistle.

He had told her, as he neared sleep the previous night, that they would take the eleven o’clock southbound train (so they were going somewhere in the south, Margaret had thought with glee).

“I won’t have you awake too early.” He had mumbled as he nuzzled into her neck. “You’re no fun to be around when you’re irritable and tired.”

“That is not true.” Margaret whispered back. “I am just not used to rising as early as you.”

It was true; John was seemingly tireless. Although he did admit to being weary these past few days, he seemed to have endless energy when it came to his work. Though at times his eyes looked heavy and his body slumped, his mind never seemed to share the fatigue. Margaret wished she shared his robust constitution but she felt exhaustion come to her frustratingly easily. She hoped that over the rest of her life, she would come to share John’s tireless nature.

They departed for the station around ten o’clock. John bid his mother goodbye with a kiss on her cheek, and as it was customary Margaret did the same. She had never kissed her mother in law before, and the entire thing was rather awkward on both women’s part. 

“Have a fine time.” Hannah Thornton offered by way of enthusiasm, her face barely moving into a smile. “I will ensure everything runs smoothly here.”

“I’ve not a doubt of it.” John said, his voice warm in the way it always was when he spoke to his mother. “See you in a week, Mother.”

They made their way to the carriage that John had arranged to take them to the station, the luggage already loaded on the back. Margaret could not stop smiling; though she had grown to love Milton, it should be nice to leave just for a few days. The summer heat, though not as overwhelming as it had been, hung close and low in the air. Mixed with the endless smoke and steam of industry, it could be quite oppressive.

She did not know where John planned to take her, though she hoped it would be somewhere beautiful. John had spoken of fresh air and solitude - it would be so nice indeed to go somewhere where there was nobody to bother them, just for a small amount of time. There were so many demands on their time In Milton, particularly on John. Between the mill and his position as a magistrate, free time was not something John Thornton had.

The carriage rattled to the station. The two occupants said very little to each other beyond polite conversation. Margaret still did not know where they were going, and she felt strangely shy around him. It was absurd; they were husband and wife. Yet, and perhaps this could be attributed to his absence over the past weeks, she felt self conscious being so close to him. Her arms felt too long and awkward, the seat too small so she was pressed against him.

“Are you quite well, Margaret?” John asked after Margaret had squirmed in her place once too often.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what has come over me. I’m feeling a little hot.”

“It is rather warm today.” John commented. He looked at her with a smile. “I suppose I should tell you where we’re going, shouldn’t I?”

“That would be most helpful indeed.” Margaret said. “I have been in suspense all morning.”

“You remember telling me about your childhood trips to Bournemouth?”

Margaret recalled their conversation. She did indeed have very fond memories of Bournemouth, but she was surprised he had remembered such a detail.

“Yes. Oh! Is that where we are going?” Margaret asked, her eyebrows arching with elated surprised.

John nodded, taking her hands in his. He seemed to be nervous, perhaps doubting his choice of a honeymoon destination. Margaret thought it would do most splendidly indeed. Bournemouth was a lovely place as she remembered it - though she had always loved the sound of the sea in her ears and the feel of sand beneath her feet, so perhaps she was biased. 

It was not a large town, and up until a few years previous it had been somewhat overlooked as a seaside town. Yet, after it was mentioned in a book by some author or other Margaret couldn’t recall, people flocked there to take the sea air. It was supposed to ease chest complaints, and Margaret thought then of Bessie. Margaret and her family had simply gone there because it was not too far from Helstone, with expanses of beautiful beach to explore.

“I hope that isn’t too boring for you, I just - I’ve never seen the proper southern coast, only ports. The Northern towns are unreliable in their weather, and I have heard that it is quite lovely in that part of the country. Indeed, my trip to Helstone showed me the beauty of the New Forest. I have arranged a night or two in a cottage in an area of it.”

“How thoughtful of you.” Margaret said in wonder.

Though her trip to Helstone with Mr Bell some months before had been disappointing to say the least, she still held a great fondness for Hampshire. The lush greenness of the land was perhaps the one thing that had not been overestimated in her mind, for the area around Helstone was just as beautiful and peaceful as it had always been. One could not replicate a memory that was gone, however; Helstone without her beloved parents did not have the same charm.

How nice it would be to dip her toes in the sea! Margaret had not done so for many years. She would not be free to splash around carelessly as she had done as a child, but just to feel the waves crash at her feet would bring her great joy. 

“You are happy? Truly?” John asked, somewhat nervously.

Margaret remarked in her head how different he was when they were alone. She had never thought it possible that a man so confident, so powerful and so intelligent could also be so tender a husband, yet at the same time so cautious. Sometimes it felt like he was scared she would run away, or that he would touch her too hard and she would shatter. 

“Very. Thank you, John.” She kissed his lips gently. “It shall be wonderful.”

-

Margaret was grateful John had booked them a private compartment on the train; just as it had been not four months before, in the privacy of the train they were almost instantly entwined with each other. The awkwardness Margaret had felt on the way to the station vanished, and she enjoyed having the time to kiss her husband at length.

Though the journey South was long and rather arduous, Margaret did not resent a moment of it once they reached Bournemouth. The town was not connected to the railway yet, and the hour long ride from the nearest station had felt endless and bumpy. 

Although the roads were far from smooth, as Margaret looked out of the window she sighed with contentment. It was glorious to be back in the countryside. It was especially glorious to be feeling considerably more cheerful than the last time she had visited Hampshire. She had been in a haze of grief and loss that had swept over her quite aggressively. There were times when she was in London that she could simply not imagine ever feeling happy again. 

The pair walked arm in arm to their hotel, and Margaret could not help but smile at her husband even though he stared straight ahead. He did not look so stern as he usually did, his shoulders relaxed and his mouth turned upwards in a small smile.

“It is beautiful here.” He said, breaking the silence. “The air is so clear.”

“Yes.” Margaret agreed; though she would not tell him, she had heard him coughing often enough. “It is rather different to home, isn’t it.”

The smile that had been so small suddenly widened, and he looked at her with nothing but love in your eyes.

“You said home.” He said softly.

“Milton is my home. It has felt that way for quite some time, yet I was too blind to accept that. My home is wherever you are, I think.” She told him sincerely, her free hand covering his that rested in the crook of her elbow and stroking the skin of his knuckles. “Surely you know that by now?”

“Oh Margaret.” John said as they ascended the steps to the hotel. 

It was a modest hotel, simply decorated yet bright and clean. The foyer was bathed in light, lined by large windows that made the most of the sea view. Margaret followed John as they were shown to their room. It, too, was wonderfully bright and airy. There was even a small balcony. The doors had already been opened to allow the sea air to come into the room.

Once they had been left alone, though their luggage was still to be brought up, they simply looked at each other with identical beaming smiles.

“This is beautiful.” Magaret breathed, stepping through the door onto the balcony. “How wonderful it is to have such a marvellous view of the sea.”

She could hear John’s footsteps following her, and closed her eyes as she felt his hands at her waist. He pulled her gently to stand flush against him, though he was so tall that he had to stoop to rest his chin on her hair. They stood in silence, staring out at the sea as the light began to dim. Margaret could not wait to see the sunset; on such a clear July evening it would surely be a marvel.

“Do you like it?” John asked after a while.

Margaret smiled, wondering how he could possibly ask her that. It was a lovely place, precisely to her taste - and that balcony! Margaret could happily spend hours there.

“Like it? Yes, John. I like it very well. After dinner, could we perhaps go for a walk? My legs are rather numb after sitting so still all afternoon.”

After they had dined in the small restaurant, John offered his arm to escort his wife along the sea front. Margaret took it most happily.

It was remarkably quiet at that time of day. It was around nine o’clock, and any day trippers that might have been on the beach earlier in the day had long since left. Only a few people walked along the path that ran alongside the vast sandy beach. Margaret could not take her eyes off the sea; she had always loved it as a girl. It was so calming, the rhythmic, repetitive roar of the ocean as wave after wave rolled to the shore.

They walked in peaceful silence. They paid no mind to the time; though it was growing late, it was so rare that they were able to walk in the evenings. Milton was not pleasant after dark; there were no street lamps in the parks where Margaret liked to walk best, and it was not safe to walk in such darkness. Here, though the sun had not yet set, there were street lamps that lined the promenade.

They reached a set of steps that lead down to the beach. It was completely empty, though littered with footprints of those who had walked on the sand in the day. It had been so long since Margaret had walked on the sand, she could scarcely remember the feel of it beneath her feet.

“I wonder,” Margaret began, in a hushed voice as though she were suggesting something they shouldn’t do, like a naughty school child, “I wonder if it would be improper to walk on the beach?”

“You’ll get sand in your shoes.” John said. 

“What if we were to take our shoes off?” Margaret asked devilishly.

“Why Mrs Thornton, you are full of surprises.” He said with a wry smile. “Come on then.”

There was a bench to the side of the steps that faced the beach, and they both sat down to remove their shoes. Margaret also removed her stockings, and John’s eyebrows almost went into his hair he was so surprised to see her remove such an intimate garment in public. Though there was nobody to see them, there was still a part of both of them that worried what people might think of them.

John held out his hand for her stockings and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his jacket. Margaret laughed at that, though she was not sure why she found it so funny. He took his socks off and put them in the same pocket, making his jacket bulge most strangely.

Hand in hand, they walked down the steps and onto the sand. It was cool and damp, and Margaret wiggled her toes. She stared out at the endless horizon, a thrill in her chest. How lovely to be alone with her husband, the sound of the sea in her ears and cool sand beneath her feet.

She looked at John, who was staring ahead just as she was. His eyes crinkled at the side as he smiled, inhaling the sea air.

He looked down at her, his eyes running up and down her body. He turned again to the sea, and Margaret wondered what he was thinking as his face broke out into a wild smile.

“Race you!” He suddenly exclaimed, taking off towards the sea with her hand still in his, pulling her alongside him.

The tide was in, and the run to the sea was not very long at all. Their shoes lay forgotten behind them as they both ran without a care towards the sea. Margaret stopped, hitching her dress up slightly so it would not get ruined by the salt water. Anyone watching them would think them very odd indeed, and most improper. Margaret did not care.

John laughed as the water splashed over his bare feet, and Margaret loved how carefree he seemed. He had been so weighed down with his cares these past few - well, years, she supposed. She hoped that this honeymoon would give him the rest he needed from the burden of industry.

“I’m not sure what’s come over me.” He laughed, taking her hand and pulling her to him most improperly. He kissed her passionately, and Margaret did not care who should see them.

He broke away, resting his nose against hers as the water swirled around their feet. Margaret let go of her skirt, instead moving both of her arms to encircle him and hold him close.

It felt like they were the only two people in all the world.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, smut and some more smut.

The sun dipped not long after, the orange glow spreading over the water. It looked as if the whole body of water was aflame as the light danced on the surface. Margaret sat in the wet sand, her feet just in the sea as the waves softly died at her feet. John joined her; they would be wet and dirty by the time they returned to their hotel, but Margaret could not bring herself to care.

“I love you.” John said as she rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, cradling her against him. 

“I love you. Most dearly.” She said, still gazing out at the sunset. “Isn’t this extraordinary?”

“Aye, I’ve not seen a sunset like it.”

“It is so quiet here.” Margaret turned to look behind her; the promenade was empty, the beach deserted save for the two of them. “I do not think it is ever so quiet in Milton. There is always someone around.”

“You’re telling me. I can’t walk down the street without someone stopping me, it is enough to drive you mad.”

John was indeed a well respected man, and Margaret had never heard him complain about the demands on his time before. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the sea lapping at their ankles. Seagulls squawked endlessly above them, yet she did not find the noise irritating.

“We should go back.” Margaret said after a while, aware the sun was fading and it would be most improper indeed to remain here after dark.

“Just a few more minutes.” John urged her, kissing her forehead. “Just a few more minutes of this.”

“We have the whole week to enjoy the quiet, John. I do not think it would do to return to our hotel late and covered in sand. There will be talk.”

“Let them talk.” John said with a glance to his wife. “Who knows us here? Who cares what they think?”

“Mr Thornton!” Margaret exclaimed. “Do not say such things. I do not wish to completely abandon all morals.”

“I hardly think a man and his wife sitting on the beach a great scandal, Margaret.” John chuckled.

He tilted his head to hers, taking her lips with his. Margaret kissed him back, silently agreeing with him that she should care less about what people thought of them. Yet it had been so difficult to hear gossip (however untrue she knew it to be) about her back in Milton that she could not bear anyone at all to think badly of her.

They sat entwined like that for a long time. The light faded and vanished, the waves still lapping at them. Margaret had quite lost her mind, she was sure. Eventually, realising that it had grown almost completely dark, they broke apart. John chuckled as he rested his forehead against hers.

“What a sight we must be, soaking wet and quite mad.” Margaret laughed, wiggling in her toes. “How will we ever find our shoes?”

“We’ll find them. Come on then Mrs Thornton, we’d better get back. It must be very late.” He stood up, and in the shadowy light coming from the far away street lamps, he stretched out his hand to help her up. She took his hand most gratefully.

They located their shoes, picking them up and putting them back on on the same bench where they had removed them. It was still wonderfully quiet. Their hotel was a little further than would be ideal at this late hour, but the night are was clear and cool against their faces. Margaret stifled laughter when she realised that John’s trousers had sand all down the back, and John could not help but laugh too.

He seemed so - so light. Margaret had always known he had a wry sense of humour, but she had never really seen him laugh before their engagement. It was still a rare thing, especially when they were in Milton. Yet here, he seemed so light that happiness bubbled within him, and laughter came easily. Margaret was under no illusion that things would forever be this easy, but for now she savoured the simplicity of their love.

They reached their hotel, ignoring the rather curious glances of the staff as they walked through the foyer. They walked up the stairs hand in hand, John’s fingers drawing lazy circles along the back of Margaret’s hand.

As they walked through the door of their room, it was as though something snapped. Any restraint, any trepidation that Margaret might have felt suddenly left her as she launched herself at her husband with wild abandon. She pulled at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders as he pulled his arms free. John shut the door behind him with his foot as he returned her kiss, effortlessly lifting her up and turning to press her against the door. It was most unlike anything Margaret had ever known, this desperate wanting. She gripped onto his shoulder with one hand, the other caught in his hair as she tried to keep him as close to her as possible. Her legs clamped themselves around his hips, his hands gripping her thigh with a bruising strength just to steady her. His other hand made its way through the many layers of her skirts and coming to rest on top of her underclothes, touching that most intimate of places. She shuddered against him, her head falling back against the door with pleasure.

His mouth moved ceaselessly against hers, his hand touching her without hesitation or fear. It was as if he knew exactly where to touch her, exactly how hard to press. She could scarcely breathe with the sensation, her breath catching in her throat.

“Are you alright?” John whispered in her ear, his fingers pausing. 

“I feel a little dizzy.” Margaret admitted. “Perhaps you would be so good as to put me down?”

John almost dropped her in his haste to set her down, his eyes downcast with embarrassment.

“I am sorry Margaret, I don’t know what overcame me. To touch you like that - it is not what a gentleman does to his wife.”

Margaret thought on it for a moment as she arranged her skirts.

“I enjoyed it very much.” Margaret admitted, her hand reaching out for his. She held it fast to her chest, so that he might feel the rapid beating of her heart beneath his palm. “I wish for you to touch me in that way. Is that wrong?”

“Nothing you ask me to do for you when we are alone like this could be wrong.” He breathed as he took her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her temple, scarcely able to believe the boldness of his wife. “Nothing.”

“Touch me again.” She begged him.

Not responding to her command, John turned her around by her shoulders and unbuttoned her dress.His fingers worked almost painfully slowly, and Margaret wondered why he was concerning himself with that now. He had just shown that he could touch her whilst she was dressed, why torment her with the arduous task of removing her clothes?

“John-”

“Margaret.”

“You don’t need to-” She was still hazy with what had just happened, and did not have the mind to care that she was begging her husband most wantonly for his touch. 

“I haven’t had you for weeks.” He murmured against her neck as his fingers undid the last buttons. He pushed the garment down at the shoulders, allowing Margaret to slip her arms out. “I want to see you properly, to make love to you properly, not take you fully dressed like a desperate man who cannot control himself.”

She was unused to hearing him speak in such plain terms about - about what they did together in their marriage bed, and though she burned with embarrassment, there was something else too. Hearing him speak such lustful words to her in such a dark, deep voice sent a jolt of arousal straight through her. Her throat tightened, unable to respond to his words.

He had begun to unlace her corset, though he was standing so close to her that she was unsure how he had the room to do so. He peppered the back of her neck with slow, deliberate kisses. She closed her eyes, the sensations such an action caused rendering her breathless. He was so deliberate in his touch as his fingers freed her from the corset, discarding the garment on the floor and turning her around to face him.

She was still in her skirts and chemise, the dress unbuttoned and lying uselessly at her waist - yet he did not remove those. Instead, he pulled her gently to him and kissed her again.

“I’ve thought about nothing else but this for weeks.” He murmured as they broke apart. “I’ve been desperate for you.”

“And I you.” Margaret admitted as she ran a finger along his jaw. “I missed you very much.”

“I was a fool to stay away for so long.” He groaned as he loosened the ties of her chemise, exposing her collar bones. He pressed soft, light kisses along the exposed skin. 

“You are here now. And you are all mine.” Margaret said with a breathless laugh as he pressed kisses to her neck.

“Aye, I’m yours.” He moved his hand from where it had been resting on her waist, trailing his fingers slowly up her torso. 

He looked at her questioningly as his hand stopped just below her breasts. She nodded, understanding that he was asking for her permission to touch her there. Though he had been so bold just a few minutes before, hesitation had once again overwhelmed him. Margaret had seen a glimpse of the passionate man she knew him to be, and she could not help but be thrilled by that. Perhaps, when they knew each other better in this way, that was a glimpse into the future. How wonderful that would be.

He kissed her neck as his hands moved over her chest, pulling the chemise down and exposing her skin to the cool air.

“Take my skirts off.” Margaret said, blushing at her blunt words. “I feel quite ridiculous standing here half dressed.”

“You’re demanding, aren’t you?” John teased as he pulled the dress up over her head. Margaret did the rest, stepping out of her petticoats and discarding them.

Once she stood before him, bare and for the first time unashamed of being as such, she began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. He joined her, his fingers fumbling over the buttons in his urgency to shed his clothes. Margaret laughed, leaving him to his task and walking over to the large bed.

She watched as he undressed, and when he looked up she smiled at him. He looked at her, his eyes dragging over her body with a studious intensity. She almost squirmed under his intent gaze yet she did not; instead, she returned his stare. He really was very handsome indeed. It had been weeks since they had last been intimate, and the snatched glances of her husband had not been enough to satisfy the strange longing she felt for him.

John looked down at his hands, laughing.

“I’m covered in sand. Let me wash my hands.”

He vanished into the small bathroom attached to their room, returning with his shirt gone. He joined her on the bed, still clad in his trousers. Margaret wondered if he still felt self conscious to be fully undressed in front of her. It was funny; all her life, she had been told repeatedly that she must never bare her body, that too much skin must never be revealed. Yet now, in the sanctity of their bedroom, in front of the man that she had chosen to spend all of her life with (God willing), she did not feel shame. She did not feel anything beyond desire. How quickly things could change.

Margaret kneeled before him, her arms outstretched. She kissed him softly, pressing her chest against his. He groaned as their skin met, his hands running up and down the length of her back. She lay down, pulling him so he almost crashed down on top of her.

“You are bold tonight.” He murmured, nipping the nape of her neck. 

“I’m sorry-” Margaret whispered hurriedly. 

“Do not be sorry. You just - you don’t know what it does to me. To know that you feel the same longing that I do, the same urge to be close to you. It drives me wild.”

“I do feel those things. Is that wrong? Am I supposed to feel like that, to want you so desperately? Surely it is not right for a woman to feel such things.” Margaret said, so rapidly that the words merged into each other and made very little sense. John shook his head.

“I do not care a fig if it is right, Margaret. I only care that you are happy and that I satisfy you in every possible way. I want to make you feel what I feel - that release. Have you felt it yet?”

“N-not quite.” Margaret felt her face heat up. 

“I wish to make you feel like that.” John whispered, his hand once again creeping between her legs. “May I touch you with my hand?”

“You do not need to ask me.” Margaret said with a shaky breath as his fingers began to stroke at her. “Oh..”

His touch was more hesitant than it had been in that delicious moment of passion; that haze had passed, and Margaret felt aware of every movement he made. It was not unpleasant, yet she felt a little awkward. The lamps were lit, and there was no darkness to hide behind. She looked at John, who looked back at her with eyes clouded with lust. It made her gasp to see, just as he gently pushed one finger inside of her. She gasped again, her hands gripping his shoulders as her head lolled backwards.

“Oh, fuck.” John hissed.

Margaret had never heard him - or anyone else in polite society - use such unbecoming language. It was the coarsest word, its use forbidden amongst women and men alike, and yet to hear him utter it (though she would scold him if he said it in any other context) made her moan quite involuntarily.

“John.” Margaret said, though she was not sure why. Her voice was strangled as he moved his fingers inside of her. “John, please.”

She was not sure what she was asking for; she was not sure what she wanted. John continued what he was doing, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he moved his hand. It felt much like when he was inside of her, and she closed her eyes. It would be easy to run; each new aspect of being together was vaguely terrifying, but Margaret knew she would be a fool to fear this. Her husband was gentle, yet as he gained confidence she knew that he would make a fine lover. 

Was it wanton, Margaret wondered, to think of her husband as a lover? She had never considered that the physical side of their relationship would become so important to her so quickly, yet it had quickly begun to consume her.

“Is that-” He asked, his voice shaking. “Is that alright?”

“Yes.” Margaret whispered, her hand grabbing at the sheets. “Oh!”

“There?” John asked, kissing her neck as he crooked his finger.

Margaret almost leapt off the bed. Her toes curled uncontrollably, her back arching. John did not need to hear her confirmation that his touch was, indeed, in the right place. He continued to move his hand, somehow understanding just what it was that she needed. Margaret felt a burst of pleasure, pleasure so sharp that it was almost painful, wash over her in the most delightful way. Was that the release John had spoken of? If so, it was the most wonderful feeling.

“Oh.” Margaret gasped, her chest heaving as she struggled to get her breath back. 

“Margaret.” John nuzzled her neck, his voice almost a whine as he removed his finger. “Oh, how I love you.”

“I love you too. I- I have never felt like that before.”

“I will spend the rest of my life making you feel like that, I swear it. Let me make love to you, Margaret.”

“Why did you not remove your trousers when you came to bed?” Margaret asked, completely changing the subject.

John frowned.

“I - I feel a little self conscious, that is all.” John admitted. “It is not the most attractive of appendages.”

Margaret let out a squeak of laughter at his unexpected;y honest statement, covering her mouth immediately. 

“John, that is a little ridiculous. I thought we were to make no apologies in our bedroom. Do not hide yourself from me.”

He smirked a little, but did as he was bid and removed his trousers. He did so without getting up, and Margaret’s eyes were drawn to the - appendage - in question. It was true it was slightly strange looking, but it was not repulsive.

“Don’t stare at it.” John said. Margaret was concerned she had offended him, yet when her eyes moved back to his face she could see he was smiling broadly. “If you’ve quite finished, might we get back to the matter at hand?”

He kissed her again, rolling so he was lying on top of her. He was in no rush, his hands taking their time in roaming her body. It was rather amusing how the mood could change so quickly - from unguarded passion to easy, friendly laughter in a matter of moments.She could never have predicted this. Their relationship had not always been so easy; cross words used to come easier than anything else. Yet Margaret could not imagine ever arguing with John again.

They stayed like that for so long that the lamps that had been bathing the room in light began to flicker and die. In the darkness, she felt him against her leg. She shifted so that their hips were in line, and it was she who tilted her hips towards him. He gripped her arm tightly, understanding what she wanted and pushing to enter her. 

He made love to her slowly, blissfully slowly. There was no need to hurry; neither of them had anywhere to be the next morning. Margaret could do nothing but whisper words of love in his ear, her hands tight on his shoulders as their hips met. She understood a little of the rhythm that felt best, now, and she hoped that it would feel right for him too. There was not the same sharp feeling of pleasure that she had enjoyed when he touched her with his hand, but it was pleasant all the same.

His hips sped up, and he kissed her with force as he came apart, gasping against her lips. His forehead was damp as he rested it against hers, panting as he tried to recover himself. Margaret simply smiled.

This would be a most enjoyable honeymoon indeed.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

Margaret had forgotten the most irritating part of the coast; the seagulls. As light peeked behind the heavily lined curtains, all Margaret could hear was incessant squawking of those feathery pests. She groaned, rolling over and reaching out for her husband. For once, he was beside her and still asleep. His body was hot against hers, and she moulded her body to his and shut her hummed with contentment, rubbing her face against the hair of his chest.

"You're like a cat." John muttered, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her half on top of him. "Always rubbing yourself against me."

"I thought you were still sleeping." Margaret whispered, kissing his cheek. "Must you always wake so early?"

"I was dozing." He said with a yawn. "Those damned birds woke me up hours ago, never mind my own body thinking it should be at work by now. Besides, it's nearly nine."

Margaret leaned over him to look at his pocket watch on the table. He always set it beside him as he slept.

"I'm sorry, I'd forgotten about the seagulls. Once, Father got some cockles and one came along and stole the whole lot. I have never been fond of the beasts."

"Pests." John muttered, eyes still closed. "Feathery pests. They swarm the docks looking for anything they can scavenge. I can't remember the last time I felt this relaxed, despite the flying vermin making a racket outside."

He stretched lazily, one long arm touching the wall behind the bed as he did so, his head falling back. The other arm remained firmly around Margaret, holding her captive. A happy captive indeed.

"There is nowhere to be today. Nowhere to go. We could stay in bed all day if we wished." Margaret said into his neck, her lips kissing him most mischievously as her hands stroked gently down the length of his torso.

"You don't have to ask me twice." He said rolling her over and waking her up in a rather pleasant way indeed.

Later, after they had taken breakfast and somewhat begrudgingly left the hotel to allow their room to be cleaned, Margaret suggested they walk further today, not in any particular direction but just for a leisurely stroll and perhaps to buy trinkets to take home to their nearest and dearest. Bournemouth was a town made up of steep hills and inclines, and their hotel was at the bottom of one such hill. They walked all the way up, enjoying looking back at the never ending sea that stretched out behind them. They sat down on the grass at the top of the hill, earning some rather strange looks from passers by, but Margaret did not care a bit for their judgement.

John stared out with a blank expression on his face. Margaret watched him for several minutes, marvelling how he barely blinked. Whatever was on his mind was clearly bothering him, yet she could not guess what it was.

"What are you thinking about?" Margaret asked curiously, jolting him out of his haze.

"Do you want the romantic lie or the honest truth?" John asked, still staring ahead.

Margaret pretended to think on it.

"I shall have the lie first, and the truth second." Margaret decided.

John rested his head against her shoulder, his arm around her lower back to anchor himself to her. She rested her cheek against his dark hair, enjoying the way it tickled her skin.

"I was thinking of how beautiful you are, and how lucky I am to have you beside me." He whispered, his hand stroking the material of her dress by her waist. She felt her breath catch as it always did when he touched her so tenderly, yet she did not forget the promise of the truth.

"And the truth, Sir." Margaret teased, tangling her fingers in his hair and stroking through it. He loved having his hair played with, she had discovered. A most unlikely quirk for a man so serious.

"I was thinking that I forgot to review last week's accounts before we left." John admitted sheepishly.

"Oh, John. I am your wife but the mill is your mistress. Though, I knew that full well before I married you." Margaret teased. "There is nothing you can do now. Come, shall we walk on?"

The days passed in much the same way; they would wake late, occupy themselves with one another (the maids must have thought they were savages!) for most of the morning. The afternoons were spent walking along the sand or up along cliffs, admiring the view and enjoying the privilege of having one another's company with no distractions.

On the Thursday, they moved to the New Forest, travelling around an hour outside of Bournemouth on bumpy roads to a place that felt like the other side of the world. Surrounded by dense woodland, the cottage John had somehow found had only a dirt track leading to it, and no neighbours for miles around.

"Oh." Margaret breathed as she set her bag down on the stone floor. "How wonderful this place is. I feel as though I am quite removed from anything here."

The cottage was made of two rooms, and an outhouse near the back. A great fireplace, almost tall enough for John to stand in, dominated the room that served as the sitting room and the kitchen. The furnishings were bare, but plenty enough for Margaret. One threadbare settee that rested close to fire, a large, faded red rug, a table that served as both food preparation and dining area, and two rather rickety looking chairs tucked into it.

"Do you really like it?" John asked with a frown. "I did not realise quite how remote it was. Nor how simple."

"It is perfect. Say, have you ever stayed in the country?" Margaret asked.

She realised that this man had spent all his life surrounded by smoke and noise; the silence of the New Forest must be quite remarkable to him.

"No, never. It's certainly different to Milton."

"It is perfect. I have always longed to stay somewhere like this, away from the world. Just you and I, all alone." Margaret turned to him, slipping her hands beneath the collar of his shirt to touch the smooth skin of his neck. He eyed her curiously.

"Will we manage with no servants?" John asked, teasing her. "They've left us food and firewood. There is no one to bang at the door demanding we leave so they can clean the place, no raised eyebrows as we leave."

Margaret blushed then, for she realised he was referring to the previous day when, lost in each other, she had made rather a lot of noise. She had certainly not missed the covered mouths and hushed giggles of the maids in the hallway as they had passed.

"Then we shall be fine." Margaret threw her arms around his neck, kissing the very tip of his nose. He laughed, kissing her chin in return.

He grabbed her waist and lifted her up effortlessly, spinning her around as she squealed. Margaret remarked upon the change in this man she had seen over the two years she had known him. If someone had told her at the beginning of their acquaintance that someday he would pick her up and spin her round just to hear her laugh, she would have thought them quite mad indeed.

The John Thornton she had known - or thought she had known, at least, for in reality she had understood little about his nature - was so utterly unlike the man she had married. Though he was still hard, practical and quick to temper to the outside world, in their own little world that they were creating, he was playful and loving. Margaret had never believed John Thornton could be described as "playful".

Though perhaps this lighter side of a man had once seemed to be all darkness and dirt was down to being loved - loved fiercely, in fact. When coming to terms with her feelings, far away from him in London, the love Margaret felt for him burned her. Her stomach ached, her mind wandered from any task. She had known the pain he had felt when she had rejected him.

John seemed to change a little more every day. At first, when Margaret had returned to Milton, he was almost uncharacteristically anxious, consumed by self doubt and fears that he would fail again. Now, he seemed to be back in control of himself. He did not let the people who knew them see the tender side to him; that was private, for Margaret and Margaret alone. It thrilled her.

They would return to Milton on Saturday, having arranged for a carriage to come and collect them from this hideaway in the woods and return them to their normal lives. Though it was two days away, Margaret felt a strange sense of dread at having to leave this blissful seclusion and return to ordinary life.

"Shall we explore?" She asked, holding out a hand to her husband, who took it eagerly. "Perhaps we shall see some ponies."

"Aye, go on then." John said. "Though if one bites me I'm holding you responsible, Madam."

"Don't stick your hand in its mouth then, Sir." Margaret countered with a wide grin. She took his hand in hers and walked out into the woodland.

It was another world indeed; the trees grew so thick and so tall that barely any light passed through the leaves. The odd beam passed through, creating strange spots of darkness and light, all illuminated in a rich green. It was like being in a fairy story, or perhaps Robin Hood.

"You know," Margaret began as they walked, interrupting the peaceful silence broken only by the sound of snapping twigs underfoot. "William the Second was killed in this very forest."

"Aye, by an arrow. I hope there are no hunters who aim at us today, I'm no good with a bow so I've no hope of defending myself." John said.

"You know, before we got engaged I did not appreciate your sense of humour. You are rather funny for a man who wears such a dour expression."

"Don't tell anyone." John said in a drawl. "Nobody is allowed to know I'm a man and not a machine."

"I shall keep it hidden." Margaret replied, squeezing his hand.

How nice it was to walk hand in hand, rather than arm in arm. Their hands fitted together perfectly, though hers was considerably smaller than his. Her hands were smooth where his were rough and calloused, yet they were a perfect match.

"Such beauty." He murmured, his head so far back looking above that Margaret could only see the crown of his hair. "I cannot believe a place like this exists in the same country as Milton. It is as foreign as if I were standing before the Sphinx."

"I am glad to be able to show you it. Hampshire really is the most wonderful place. Though when I first moved to Milton I placed it too highly, I remembered all the good and forgot any bad that there might have been. Now, though I am thrilled to be here, I find myself missing Milton a little too."

"Oh? Think of it, I never thought Miss Margaret Hale could miss Milton."

Margaret shook her head; did he not know how much she had missed that place, and that she had missed him most of all? The nights she had spent, thinking of him. Had she really not conveyed just how painful it had been to think she might never look upon his face again?

"I did miss it. I missed it sorely when I was in London. I ached for it."

"Is that true?" John asked in awe. "I had hoped, but I thought I was out of your mind. Even when we were reunited, I still thought I had missed you far more than you could ever miss me."

"Have I never told you how much I missed Milton?" Margaret asked. "How could I be so remiss? I missed everything, but I - I missed you as though I were parted from part of my own flesh."

"Oh Margaret." John breathed, taking her in his arms and kissing her so hard that she stumbled backwards. Her back found the rough bark of a tree, and secluded in that piece of paradise, both of them quite forgot that they were in a public place, no matter how secluded, as John's hands pushed back her skirts with a new urgency.

Thankfully, no man, pony or bow wielding assassin bothered them that afternoon.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

All good things must come to an end, yet both Margaret and John were very sad indeed to leave their blissful piece of heaven that they had found. Happily exhausted, they sat side by side on the train - too close should anyone civilised see them, too close even for a married couple. It was as though they were unable to be apart, two magnets of opposite poles drawn together.

Margaret reminded herself that soon they would be back in Milton, amongst those who knew them (and judged them severely, she added silently). It would not do at all to be constantly draped over her husband. She shuffled away from him to the other side of the bench, looking out of the window.

She felt his eyes on her back.

"Where'd you think you're going?" He asked, tugging her back to him. "You're not getting away that easy, love."

"I'm practising." Margaret said firmly, shuffling along so she was pressed right against the wooden side of the carriage.

"Practising?" He asked in amusement. "For what? How to displease your husband?"

Margaret laughed and shook her head. She did not wish to displease him - though she was sure there would be plenty of times when they were both displeased with one another.

"For being back in Milton. I will not be able to touch you so freely, so I am making sure that I am used to that fact." Margaret said firmly, eyes fixed out of the window.

They had been entwined almost the entire week, constantly touching somehow. Brushes of fingers as they passed each other the salt at dinner, or a hand lingering on Margaret's waist as he helped her in and out of carriages, there was always the need to be close. Yet even the smallest, most innocent of carasses would be seen and remarked upon. Men and women, even husbands and wives, were not supposed to be so tactile.

"A pity. If only we were a country man and his wife, free to live in the middle of nowhere and do nothing but work the fields and work each other at night.." He murmured in a low voice.

Margaret went flame red at his coarse words, almost choked in her shock at his sudden innuendo. He had grown in confidence these past few days, knowing how to please her - and how to send her quite mad.

"John Thornton, hold your tongue!" Margaret laughed. "You would go mad with boredom within a week. You are born to be a man of trade, living in a city. You would not know what to do with yourself in the country. Let alone the South, you yourself once told me that you would never live there!"

"Aye, that's true enough. I can't pretend I won't be glad to get back - yet at the same time I could spend forever alone with you."

"Real life must prevail, unfortunately." Margaret said with a smile. "I do hope everything has run smoothly in your absence. I would feel dreadful taking you away and giving you more work to do on your return."

"I took you away. I'm sure there will be a stack of urgent papers, but for once I don't care. September is approaching and I'll be sitting as a Magistrate in the quarter sessions, so things will be even busier. Not forgetting the fact my sister is due to give birth in two months and will be the most unbearably demanding invalid when she enters confinement. Let me be a man on his honeymoon just a few hours longer."

"Fine." Margaret relented, her will remarkably weak compared to its usual iron strength. "I must say, that was the most wonderful week of my life."

"Aye, mine too." He rested his forehead against her hair, closing his eyes. The train rattled them around, yet he held them steady. "I love you."

"I love you."

Once the train had arrived at their destination, Margaret could see a change in her husband straight away. His relaxed, almost slouched, demeanor vanished. His shoulders straightened, his brow furrowed, his chin tilted higher. This was John Thornton back where he belonged. It sparked a great pride in her to see him as such; he really was a remarkable man.

They took a carriage back to the mill. It was the evening, their journey having taken all day, and the yard was empty. Margaret was unsurprised to see her mother in law at the window; it would have been stranger to not see her there. Once they were inside, she swept down the stairs and pressed a kiss to her son's cheek, somewhat hesitantly doing the same to Margaret. Margaret was sure it was more for politeness than any happiness to see her, but she returned the sentiment.

"How was your journey back?"

"Rather long." Margaret said, trying not to yawn. "If you'll excuse me, I'll freshen up before dinner."

John muttered something about making sure the mill was still standing, leaving quickly before Margaret could. Hannah stood crossed armed in the hallway, alone with her daughter in law.

"Fanny is here when you are finished, she is staying for a few days as Watson is away on business. She has not been well." Hannah said, her mouth tight.

Margaret could see from her expression that Fanny's presence in the house had been grating on Hannah.

"Oh?" Margaret asked, taking off her coat and handing it to one of the servant girls, whose name she still did not know. "I am sorry to hear that she is unwell."

"The Doctor thinks she needs bed rest. She can do that here while her husband is away and her house empty, I can keep an eye on her. She's in the sitting room, lazing on a settee. She's very pale, but I think she's a little bored. Perhaps hearing about your trip south will stir her from her gloom. She's been getting under my feet all week, an amazing achievement for someone who has been lying down constantly." Hannah said with a raised eyebrow.

Margaret was beginning to see that Hannah had more in common with her son than dark hair and a perceptive eye; they shared that same wry, quiet sense of humour.

Margaret excused herself to wash, changing her clothes after the long journey through dusty roads and smokey train stations. She looked in the mirror. She could not stop smiling, her cheeks pink and skin ruddied slightly by the sun. They had been so lucky with the weather, bright sunshine every day. Their honeymoon could not have been more perfect.

Margaret joined her mother and sister-in-law in the sitting room. Fanny was lying down, as Margaret had been told, but she had not expected the woman to look so unwell. Her skin lacked its usual healthy glow, instead looking pallid and strangely damp. Her eyes were encircled by dark shadows, her lips almost blue.

"I know I look wretched." Fanny moaned. "I can see it in your face."

"No! I am sorry Fanny. You do not look well." Margaret said, knowing that this would displease her but not knowing what else could be said. "I am sorry to hear you have been under the weather. The baby?"

"Doctor Donaldson says the baby is fine. I can feel him kicking me - the baby, not Doctor Donaldson!" Fanny said. "I can feel him kicking me all hours of the night, I've not had a moment's rest for weeks."

It was now early August, and Fanny's baby was not due until late September by all accounts. Poor Fanny would be miserable for a while longer yet, Margarett thought.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Margaret asked, though she did not know what help she could be. "Do you need anything from home?"

"We have servants for that." Hannah cut in. "Come, tell us about your trip."

"Oh, it was very pleasant indeed." Margaret said with a smile. "The weather was simply marvellous."

"You've caught the sun." Fanny said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "You are quite freckled!"

Fanny and other girls loathed catching any sun at all. Margaret had always loved the heat, and did not mind if her face grew freckly. It was simply marvellous to be warmed by the sun, and being raised in the countryside meant she spent plenty of time outside playing in the fields. Aunt Shaw was of the same opinion as Fanny, as was Margaret's mother. Margaret had not cared, and she still did not.

"We spent most of our time outside." Margaret said, willing a blush not to come to her cheeks as she thought about what they spent the rest of the time doing. "There were some lovely walks, beautiful scenery. We moved to the New Forest for a few days, in a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere. It was very peaceful there. I think John should be glad to get home to noise and smoke."

"Well, you have certainly missed things here." Fanny sat up, arranging herself gingerly.

Margaret knew from past dealings with Fanny that she had some piece of gossip or other to impart. Margaret did not care for gossip, but she would humour her.

"Oh?"

"It seems your Mr Lennox has taken quite a shine to Anne Latimer!" Fanny said, eyes gleaming. "She's had three letters from him, and it hasn't even been a month since they first met! Three!"

"Gosh." Margaret said, trying not to laugh. This was not a surprise to her; in fact, she thought it was a rather good match she had made. "Three!"

"Anne is quite smitten with him." Fanny went on. "Tell me, is he a good man?"

"Henry? Yes, he is a good man. A little serious, but he is from a good family and well brought up." Margaret told her. "And a very successful lawyer, he is making a good name for himself in London."

She did not - of course - mention Henry's previous, clumsy attempts to woo her. Let Anne Latimer have this happiness without Margaret tainting it.

"Oh I did think so! Are they rich?" Fanny asked eagerly, leaning forward as much as her expanded waistline would allow.

"Fanny!" Hannah scolded, irritated by her daughter's crass question.

Margaret barely noticed Fanny's direct way of thinking anymore. She seemed to say whatever came to her mind with no thinking for how it would come across. She lacked polish, as Aunt Shaw would say. Still, Margaret thought Fanny was beginning to mellow a little towards her.

"I suppose they are, but not outrageously so." Margaret said thoughtfully. "Though I would not like to comment on things that are not my business."

Margaret thought she heard Hannah scoff at that.

The next morning, Margaret felt rather bereft to wake to find her husband had already gone. Their bed was rather empty without him. It was Sunday, but John would take no rest, not after being gone for so long. She did not blame him, yet she found herself already missing the intimacy of being alone for so long.

She looked at the small clock beside her bed, and saw that it was only five in the morning. The house was quiet, even the servants were not awake yet.

Margaret threw on the least clothes needed to look presentable, finding the rumpled dress she had worn for dinner the previous evening (that had been removed by her husband in something of a hurry..) and crept out of the house. She was surprised not to bump into Hannah, who seemed to hear all that happened in the house and who also seemed to wake impossibly early, just like her son.

Margaret walked through the empty yard, unsure why she felt like some sort of thief in her own home. The gates were locked, sealing them in, but the mill door was open to allow some air in while it was not in use.

"John?" Margaret called out.

"What are you doing up?" He called out, though Margaret could not see him. "It can't be much past five."

"I came to find my husband." Margaret teased. "Though it is proving a little harder than I expected. Where are you?"

His dark head popped up from behind a loom, like a little boy playing hide and seek. He was wearing just his shirt and trousers, his shirt sleeves rolled up out of the way. He had not yet shaved, his cheeks dark with stubble. Margaret was not even sure he had brushed his hair, and it stuck up at strange angles. He looked rather wild.

"I didn't think you fixed the machines anymore." Margaret said, walking over to him and sitting on the dirty floor beside him. "Not now the mill is open."

"It clears my mind." John shrugged. He looked at her, in her creased and crumpled clothes, hair loose and unbrushed. "You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

"Someone did not take care in removing my clothes last night." Margared muttered. "I don't know why, I just needed to see you while it is peaceful. It is strange waking up to find you gone."

John shrugged by way of an apology.

"Back to our old routine, I'm afraid. No more lazy days in bed, maids banging down the door to clean." John shuffled close to her, his arm around her. "I'm sorry. When things have calmed down, I will try to take at least some of Sunday off. I won't be able to come to church today, there is too much to do. Mother does not normally go, and Fanny can't leave the house."

"I shall go with Dixon, it is no matter. Say, would you show me the workings of some of the machines? I should like to understand this place better."

"Why? Are you after a job as a spinner?" John said, kissing her forehead. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. What should I know?" Margaret asked. "Show me."

John frowned.

"I don't want you getting close. Don't be fooled love, these are beasts. They'd have your arm off if you're not careful."

"I have heard about accidents." Margaret told him.

Accidents in mills were common, so common that they were scarcely even reported in newspapers anymore. The industry was in its fledgling stages, but it was certainly a dangerous one. Before they moved to Milton, Margaret had once read of a man having his arm ripped off in the machines. It was horrific, and she had never forgotten it. Yet John never spoke of it, nor the other masters. They discussed the dangers posed to the lungs, but not the more physical, instant risks that the large machinery posed.

"Aye, there are plenty of them. We've been lucky here, but it is luck. A worker doesn't take care and there's nothing I can do for them. Dangerous places, are mills." John shuffled back on the floor, putting his arm around her. "You don't want to know the ins and outs, Margaret. It really is boring."

"But it is not boring to you. This is you life, John. I want to know what keeps you away from me, what makes you leave our bed before the sun has barely risen. That passion inside you, I want to know what fuels it."

"You." He nudged her with his nose. "Before it was because I wanted to make something of my life, to support my mother and my sister, to pay off Father's debts and establish my own reputation. Now, it's because I want to make a life with you. I want to make sure I have a business that will thrive so I can pass it on to the next generation. That's what drives me now."

"You care about the industry too. I know you do; you care about your workers, you care about your product. You do not do this just for yourself."

"I run a business, not a charity. Aye, I care about what we produce and I want my workers to be healthy to get the best out of 'em. But at the end of the day when I lay my head down, I want to know I have done my utmost provide for my wife. Is that so wrong?" John asked, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"You are a fine man, John. Very fine indeed."


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussion about infant/mother death. I just wanted to warn you incase this is upsetting to any of my readers.

Some weeks later, in the dying days of August, John was summoned by a letter from his sister. She had returned to her own house weeks before, when Watson got back from his business trip. Her health had not improved, and Doctor Donladson had instructed her that she was not to leave the house, starting her confinement early. Now, she would be confined to her home and bed for almost two months.

His mother and Margaret had been to visit her often, but John had not had time. The mill had required all of his attention, the week he had taken for his honeymoon feeling like five for all the work he had to do on his return. So, there had been no time to visit his sister. Margaret had told him she was growing grumpier by the day, petulant and furious at her own body for betraying her.

Jane had delivered the letter to Margaret, who had in turn taken it to her husband's office that morning. It was written in Fanny's familiar, overly elaborate writing.

John,

Please come and visit me as soon as you possibly can. Come alone, when Watson is out. There is something most important I need to discuss with you.

Fanny

"John." Fanny greeted him as he opened the door to her bedroom.

She looked exhausted. She was in her nightclothes; John had not seen her like that since she was a girl. Despite her large stomach, she looked very small indeed in the large bed. She was propped up with pillows, and as she sat up to greet him she winced with pain.

"I've brought you some plum jam, Mother said you've been craving it. I've left it with one of the servants."

"Oh, thank you. John, please sit down. I have something very important I should like to discuss with you."

"Oh?" John sat on the chair that was by the bed; Fanny had obviously been taking audiences even in her confinement. "What?"

Fanny took a deep breath, rearranging herself on her thousands of pillows. Her hands were clasped together, so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Johnny, I'm scared." She whispered. "I'm scared I shall die. I cannot talk to Mother about this, and I still do not know Margaret well enough to be frank. I need to talk to my family, and you are the only one that I feel will listen to me."

Fanny had always called him Johnny when she was a girl; she liked it because it made their names sound similar, and she also liked it because John hated it. Yet now, seeing his sister so vulnerable, he did not mind it.

"You're not going to die, Fan." John told her, reaching out to take his sister's hand. He was gentle rather than sharp as he usually was when Fanny was in her moods.

For all Fanny's dramatic tendencies, John did not blame her for this one. Though it was a little better these days, women died in the child bed almost as often as they rose out of it. Slickson's first wife had died giving birth, and their father's sister many years before too. Fanny was too young to remember that, but John wasn't. It was a burden men did not have to carry, yet John was all too aware that Margaret could easily be taken from him in the same way when the time came that they were blessed with a child.

"I asked you to come here so that I might ask you a favour. If I die and the baby should live - I worry about Watson. He is not natural with children, I'm sure he won't know what to do and will make a terrible mess of it all. If he should agree to it - I would like you to take the baby. As your ward." Fanny said, her face set in determination.

John was unused to hearing his sister speak so frankly, and so sensibly. It was wise to make arrangements such as these, yet John was still taken by surprise. The thought of his sister dying was too terrible to dwell on.

"Fanny, Watson would never agree. I will not agree. You're not going to die!" He tried not to shout, but he was almost angry that his sister had to talk to him like this. That there was a chance, a very real chance, that she would not survive childbirth. It was blisteringly unfair.

Fanny shook her head, her mouth set in a thin line.

"Johnny, allow me to talk like this. I have nobody else to turn to; Watson will not listen to me, he does not want to accept the chance that I might die. I know we have not always seen eye to eye, and I was perhaps a little less than supportive of your marriage. I am very scared, John. I can't sleep, I can barely eat. I lie awake thinking about what should become of my baby if I do not survive. A life of governesses and seeing its father once a week for dinner, then packed off to school. I could not bear it."

John could see her point; Watson wasn't exactly a paternal man, and John did not like the things he had heard of how he treated his child workers. They were there to do a job, it was true, but there was no need to be cruel to them. He agreed with Fanny that Watson would have very little to do with the child - but that was not reason enough to simply hand the child to her brother.

"Watson will not agree to it, you know it."

"Actually, he has." Fanny said triumphantly. A tear slipped from her eye and she brushed it away angrily. "I told you John, he is not good with children. He says I will not die, and there is no need for such an agreement but he conceded that perhaps I was right. I am not asking you to adopt the child, you would just act as their guardian and he would still see them and be their father, the child would just live with you and Margaret. I do not know the ins and outs but I think it is a possible arrangement in the eyes of the law. I told him that I should like the babe to be raised by my family, to know the love that I myself felt as a child. In slightly less miserable surroundings than we knew, though."

"Fanny." John squeezed her hand. "Before I say yes, I should talk to Margaret, and to Mother-"

"You are the man of the house!" Fanny interrupted in a shrill voice. "Please John, I don't want them to know I am so afraid. Mother will scold me, and Margaret will laugh."

"You do not know her at all, Fanny. She would not laugh at you." John took a deep breath. "Fine. Should the worst happen, and pray God that it does not, Margaret and I will take care of the baby."

"I have made a will." Fanny told him. "Stating my wishes. I shall sign it, and pray that it never leaves the dusty box Watson keeps his papers in. Thank you, Johnny. I shall never forget it."

She grasped his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. John squeezed back.

"I promise that, should the time come, that I will raise your child well. I shall love them as my own, raise them alongside my own." John swore. His throat grew tight.

"Is Margaret-" Fanny began, leaning forward with wide eyes. Even in her fragile state, her thirst for gossip remained unquenched.

"No!" John interrupted rather sharply.

Margaret was not yet pregnant, and John could not help but feel a little disappointed. It was strange; though he had always liked children well enough, he found himself yearning for a child of his own. Margaret had reminded him that these things took time, that not all women returned from their honeymoons expecting. And, she had said, wasn't it better that they had a little time to enjoy their marriage before children came along?

"Alright John, no need to snap. Oh, and I should tell you the names that I have settled upon."

That she had already planned the name of her baby and was now confiding it in him was too much. It was as though she had made the decision that she would die.

"Fanny, please, this feels too final. You have given up."

Angry tears filled Fanny's eyes as she shook her head. She bit her lip, and John felt a stab of guilt for making her upset. He did not want to upset her; if this was difficult for him, how difficult it must be for his sister. She was usually so silly, so frivoulous, yet now she was having to speak of the most terrible thing imaginable. How terrifying it must be to consider the fact, the unfortunately real fact, that you might die giving birth. John could not imagine it. Fanny swallowed her tears and spoke again.

"I have not given up! You and Mother are always on at me to be more practical, and here I am trying to do just that. Watson will just fiddle with the names in some way, or change them altogether. I wish you to know the names I want because I trust you to carry out my wishes to the letter."

"Fine, tell me the names. Nothing too ridiculous I hope." John said, knowing his sister's tastes could hardly be called conservative.

John favoured traditional names, biblical names. Fanny rolled her eyes at her brother, tutting.

"Do not worry, I've picked something most sensible indeed. I know Mother would grow cross if I picked anything too unusual. I have written one down. Here."

Fanny reached for a carefully folded piece of paper that had been placed on the table beside the bed. She handed it to John, who unfolded it with trepidation. There was a strange fashion for eccentric names, and he was sure Fanny would follow this swirly, elaborate handwriting that could only belong to his sister read:

Albert John

To read his own name alongside the name that Fanny had chosen struck him, his chest growing tight. It was too terrible to bear, his sister almost willingly preparing for death in order to give life to a child.

"Really?" John rarely cried (and never in company), yet he felt tears prick at his eyes. "You wish to use John as a middle name?"

"Yes. Watson will insist his name feature, but I don't like it, so I will not pass it on. I can argue him to Australia and back, he will not win. Even if I am dead, I shall haunt him if he does not do as I have asked."

"Fanny." John said sternly. "Do not joke about that."

"I'll never forget all you did for us, Johnny. I know I was a child, but I did notice how hard you worked. For a girl - Louise Hannah. I did not write it down as I am sure I am expecting a boy." Fanny said with a determined grin, resting her hands on her large stomach. "Mother said she can see in the way I am carrying."

"Louise?" John asked, his nose wrinkling. "Isn't that a little too German?"

"Like the little princess. It is a fine name!" Fanny said defensively. "Just because it is not dour and serious and English does not mean it is not a lovely name! It is pretty!"

"Fine, fine. Louise." John agreed. "Fanny, you will be alright y'know. You will know your child, you will raise your child. You will have many more, if that is what God has planned."

"I think going through this hell once shall be quite enough!" Fanny exclaimed. "Please John, just make this promise for me."

John leaned over and kissed his sister on the forehead. He stayed there, taking her in his arms and holding her close to him. He had not embraced her since she was a child, but he needed to at that moment. For all that she was irritating, extravagant and ridiculous, she was his sister. His beloved sister, that sweet little golden haired child he had worked so hard to support through the difficult times of their youth. He would make this pledge to her.

Fanny sniffed heavily as she returned his embrace. When he had helped her to lie back down, her eyes were brimming. Though she cried as easily as most people breathed, these were real tears. John took his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes.

"Thank you, John. I asked you because – I asked you because I know you shall be a fine father when the time comes. I know you would treat my child well, and Mother would be there too to see that they are raised right. Please, do not let Margaret change your mind."

John shook his head with a frown; Margaret would not - and could not - sway him from making the right decision. Needing to consult with her was not the same as needing her approval, and he did not doubt that she would support this choice with all of her heart.

"She would not. Fanny, you will not die. Calm down, it is not good for you or the child to be so upset."

"I will rest a little easier knowing you have made me this promise. I'll let you go, I know you are here during the midday break. Thank you for coming, Johnny."

"Of course."

John bid her farewell and left Watson's house, feeling considerably more miserable than he had when he'd gone in. He had much to do, yet when he reached the mill he found himself turning towards the house instead.

"Margaret?" He called, knowing she usually came to the house in between lessons.

"Yes?" Her voice echoed down from upstairs. "John?"

He found her in his study, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his book shelf. She was surrounded by books that she had picked and placed beside her in several small towers, and he wondered what on Earth she was doing.

"Are you alright?" She asked as she looked up at him. "You look as if you have seen a ghost."

"Aye, I just need to talk to you." He knelt beside her, holding his arms out to her.

"What's the matter?" She asked as she got up and held him close. "Has something happened?"

"Fanny sent me a message this morning that she needed to speak with me. I went to her house and she- she's asked me to be her baby's guardian, should the worst happen."

"What about Watson?" Margaret asked, moving back to look at him. She raised a hand to his face, stroking his cheek softly. "What did you say?"

"What could I say? I said I would. I wanted to speak to you about it but she insisted I make the decision then and there."

"I would have said the same." Margaret said. "She must be very scared indeed. I know she has not found it easy, these past few months. Of course we would take the child, if that is what she wanted and Watson was in agreement. It just seems strange that he would surrender his own child."

"Fanny says he has agreed to it." John shrugged. "I've got to go - I just needed to see you."

"It has upset you, hasn't it?" Margaret asked, taking his face in both her hands and keeping him there. "It is alright to be worried about her, John."

"She will not die." John said firmly, placing his hands over Margaret's. "She will live."

"Pray God that everything will be fine. But it is alright that she is afraid, John. All women know that it is a dangerous thing to carry a child. It is our lot in life. So, she wishes for you to raise the baby?"

"Yes. Don't tell my mother, Fanny thinks she'll just scold her and reprimand her for being silly. She didn't want me to tell you either, she thought you'd laugh at her."

Margaret's eyes widened at the suggestion that she would make light of her sister in law's fears.

"Laugh at her? I would do no such thing. Your sister and I might not always see eye to eye, John, but I would not mock her in her time of need."

"I know, I told her that."

"I shall visit her later, and take her something nice to occupy her time. I have a new book that she would enjoy, I think. It will take her mind off doom and gloom."

"May I ask why you are surrounded by my books?"

"I was looking for something to read." Margaret shrugged. "I will put them back."

"See that you do." He teased, kissing her forehead. "Right, I'm late. The whistle went twenty minutes ago, I can't tell my workers to keep to their time if the master swans in whenever he wants."

"I'll see you this evening." Margaret kissed him. "Try not to worry too much, darling."

John did worry, and his worries were not eased the next day when Margaret, tears in her eyes, came to his office near the end of the working day and showed him the latest letter she had received from Fred.

Margaret,

I am sorry I have taken so long to write to you. You are an aunt, dear sister, to a little girl named Maria Dolores Hale. She was born early, so early that we feared she would not live. She was as tiny as anything, as delicate as a newborn baby bird. She is still very small, three weeks after her birth, and her cry is so weak that it breaks my heart to hear it.

Dolores suffered terribly during the birth. She is alive, but she is still gravely unwell and unable to leave her bed. I am sorry I cannot write to you with happier news, but I am burdened very heavily with all that has passed in these last few weeks. Please, keep us in your thoughts and prayers that my wife might make a full recovery and our precious girl will thrive.

I hope you and John are well.

Fred

"I need to walk." Margaret told him in despair. "That letter is dated two weeks ago. What if the baby has died? Or Dolores? John, will you walk with me?"

John's hand automatically went to remove his watch from his pocket; there was so much to do, and it was a working day. He stopped, placing his hand back by his side. He offered his wife his arm, and they went for a walk.

They did not speak, and Margaret stared ahead with a grave expression. Nobody bothered them, and they walked up to the graveyard on the top of the hill. Margaret sat down on the bench at the top, wordlessly staring at Milton spread below them.

"I might go to church this evening." She said eventually, her voice small. "I need to pray, I need to do something. I feel useless. I should be with him, I should be taking care of my sister in law, my niece. Instead I am here, unable to do anything."

John did not know how to comfort her in her distress. It was true; she was a thousand miles away from her family in this time of crisis. John could not imagine how she was feeling, and he did not know how to help.

"I'll come to church with you." He offered

"Thank you. It is funny, though I knew full well that childbirth was a dangerous business, I have been lucky enough not to know anyone die through it. Fanny is having such a difficult time, she is terrified. And now I know how greatly Dolores has suffered - I find myself feeling afraid for - well, myself, though I am not even expecting a baby. How selfish of me."

"It is only natural." John said. "I feel afraid too. I want children more than anything, yet to know that it will put you through so much - it does not seem fair."

"It shall be worth it, to have children with eyes like yours." Margaret said with a weak smile. "It is no good to feel like this, to wallow in selfishness while poor Dolores and baby Maria are so unwell."

"I am sorry your brother is so far away. We will keep them in our thoughts and hope another letter comes soon with happier news. It might be on the way as we speak, love."

Margaret retreated to their room on their arrival home, not wanting to speak to anyone and wishing for some time on her own. John obliged her, going into the drawing room and pouring himself a large glass of brandy. Though he did not know Frederick Hale, he knew through Margaret how much he loved his wife. He must be in hell.

"You're back early." His mother's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Where's Margaret? I have not seen her for hours."

"She has had bad news from her brother." John said, taking a seat. "His wife is very ill after a difficult birth. The babe was early and might not live."

"Oh, mercy." His mother sat in her chair. "When did the letter arrive?"

"This afternoon, though it is dated two weeks ago. She is out of her mind with worry." John said, closing his eyes and rubbing at his forehead.

"I can imagine. And him so far away, with nothing she can do. What of the child?"

"A girl, named Maria for Margaret's mother." John said as he took a swig of brandy.

"And his wife, what is her name?" Mother asked again.

"Dolores." John answered wearily.

"I shall remember them in my prayers tonight." She said as she began her needlework, a stack of mending that had to be done. His mother enjoyed mending, though most other women left that to their servants. It kept the mind sharp, she told him, and stopped her falling into idleness.

John was not even aware his mother still prayed nightly; she had kept away from the church after his father's death, only going on occasion. The church was not kind to those who died by their own hand, and John knew his mother had been burningly angry not only at what had happened to her beloved husband, but how he had been shunned and not allowed a proper funeral.

"Thank you. I do not know how to comfort her, Mother. What can I do?"

"Nothing, John. There is nothing to be done; let her worry, let her feel what she needs to. Be there to listen, to shoulder some of her burden." His mother advised, patting his hand.

"I will."

That night, after they had had dinner (Margaret ate hardly anything at all) and been to church to pray as Margaret had wanted, John held her close as they lay curled against one another under the blankets. She refused to give way to her tears, though John could feel her chest heave as she tried not to sob.

"Margaret." He murmured into her ear. "Please do not hide in front of me. Do not be afraid to cry, if you need to."

He felt her hair brush against his chest as she shook her head.

"It is selfish to cry. It is not me suffering, my emotions are nothing compared to what Fred must be feeling."

"You are worried, love. I am worried too. It is alright."

"Fred has lost so much already. How will he bear the pain of losing his wife, or his child with no family to support him? He will be alone in a foreign land with nobody to care for him." Margaret said, her voice small and hopless.

John held her tighter. He did not know how to comfort her, he did not know how he could ease her pain. It was not possible, he was sure, to ease her pain. She held herself as she always did, but there was no denying the sagging of her frame, the sorrow in her voice. It broke his heart.

"I am sorry we cannot go to him. I have too much to do here, and I cannot allow you to travel to Spain alone, not when he is a wanted man."

"I know I cannot go. Oh John!" Margaret whispered, finally giving way to her despair and turning to bury her face in his neck as she clung to him.

The next morning, John posted the letter Margaret had written in reply to her brother. She was too exhausted to leave her bed, something that was most unlike her indeed. John worried that she was suffering low spirits as her mother had done before her. She refused to see Doctor Donaldson, insisting she was quite alright.

She had read him the letter aloud before sealing it closed.

Fred,

I was greatly saddened to receive your letter. The post was a little slow and I only pray that things have improved. Please know that Dolores and Maria are in my thoughts every moment of the day and I am praying to God that they make a good recovery. I am so sorry I cannot be there for you, Fred. I love you very much and I hope to see you soon.

Please let me know how they are when you can.

Your sister,

Margaret.

John sends his most sincere good wishes for the health of your family.

It was almost six weeks until the next letter came from Cadiz. In that time, Fanny remained confined to her bed and was no better. In fact, she was almost completely unable to get up without fainting, a real faint for once, not one of her fanciful swoons. John's mother, who had previously thought her daughter was being as dramatic as she had always been, now grew so concerned that she had moved into her daughter's house to take care of her. Margaret helped as much as she could as well, and John made sure to send Fanny fruit that might strengthen her constitution.

It was a difficult time for them all; autumn was creeping in as August rolled into September, the air turning cold and damp. The persistent damp and driving rain that accompanied it was no good for the workers' chests, nor John's. The mill was filled with the sound of wheezing and coughing that could not be eased. The wheels cleared a little of the fluff from the air, but enough still lingered in the air. At night, John was kept awake with the tightness of his own chest as he tried to ignore the clogging of his lungs as Margaret slept unaware beside him.

There was not much joy that autumn.

In late September, Margaret rushed into his office, not bothering to knock, with a broad smile on her face and a letter in her hand.

"It is good news!" She said joyfully, pushing the door shut and running to him.

Even though he was sitting down, she threw herself down onto his lap and held him tightly. He laughed, patting her back.

"I take it you've heard from your brother?" John asked as he kissed her hair, his hands grasping at her neck to try and see her face.

"Yes! Dolores has recovered well and is up and about, the baby is thriving. Fred said she has increased in weight and is eating well. Oh John, I have never been so relieved! My hands were trembling as I opened the letter."

"I am glad of it. Send him my congratulations."

"I wonder when it shall be our turn." Margaret said quietly, voicing a creeping concern that neither of them had been bold enough to mention. "It has been almost four months since our wedding."

"Patience." John whispered against her cheek. "Patience. Our time will come."

Margaret stared at him for a moment before shaking her head, roused from her temporary melancholy. She smiled, running a fond hand down the length of his face. She touched him so easily now, yet he still felt his heart stir every time her skin brushed his.

"Of course. I was going to go and visit Fanny. Now she is in proper confinement and there is no hope of leaving the house until the child is born, she is more miserable than ever, poor thing. Confinement must be miserable after she has already been on bed rest for so long. Your mother seemed rather frazzled by it all when I saw her this morning. She is at the house today, I think she is checking that it has not all turned to ruin in her absence."

"I don't think my mother could be frazzled by anything, Miss Hale."

"Miss Hale?" Margaret asked with a laugh. "Why, husband, have you forgotten our wedding day so quickly?"

"Forgive me, a habit can take a long time to break. Go, Mrs Thornton, and see that sister of mine. She must be going out of her mind with boredom."

"She's coping remarkably well. She has written letters to everybody she knows, though most of them live in Milton and come and see her once a week anyway so I do not see the point in that! She has read twelve books, she tells me, and written forty poems about how sick she is of lying in bed."

John laughed; his sister had always been amusing, in her way.

When Margaret arrived at Watson's home, she almost ran into Jane, ashen faced and panicked. Jane had been dispatched to work at Fanny's home quite some time ago, and Margaret had not seen much of her.

"Jane? Is everything alright?" Margaret asked, grabbing the girl's wrists to keep her still as she tried to dash off.

"I'm away for Doctor Donaldson, Mrs Thornton. Mistress Fanny, it's her time. She's got pains and she's pale as milk. There was blood." Jane said, wringing her hands.

Margaret knew Jane was extremely fond of Fanny, as silly as her mistress could be, and she could see the panic in the young girl's face.

"Go and fetch the doctor, I will sit with her. Get her mother too, after the doctor, I know she is at the mill house. Hurry Jane." Margaret urged, dashing up the steps to the house.

She raced up the stairs. She could hear Fanny's cries. Though they had never been close, Margaret felt a pang of sorrow for her sister in law to be in such distress. She knocked on the door, unsure if Fanny was alone.

"Come in." Fanny moaned.

She was alone in the room, standing clinging to the post of the bed as she wailed. A fire burned brightly in the grate, which made the room almost uncomfortably hot. She looked up towards the door, and closed her eyes with a grimace at the sight of her sister in law.

"Margaret, where is my mother? I need her here." Fanny sobbed through gritted teeth.

"Jane has gone to fetch her. I arrived to visit you just as she was leaving." Margaret said,. She walked over to Fanny, and rubbed at her back. "Shh, shh. The doctor is coming."

"I am going to die, I am sure of it." Fanny cried as she gripped at her stomach. "I don't want to die."

Her face was drenched in sweat, her blonde hair limp and lifeless around her face. Margaret did not know what to say; she had never seen anyone so distraught, so helpless. She took a deep breath.

"You will not die, Fanny. You will live and you will see your baby grow. The babe will have blonde hair just like yours, I am certain of it. Now, I do not know what I am doing and neither do you, but perhaps you would be more comfortable on the bed?"

Fanny howled like a wounded animal as she leaned forwards, her hand on her back. She did not speak until the pain had passed.

"No! I have spent months in bed, I never want to lie down again." Fanny groaned, panting and puffing. "Oh it hurts Margaret!"

"I know, I know." Margaret said, trying to soothe her. It did not work.

"You do not know!" Fanny said indignantly. She groaned with pain as another contraction gripped her, and Margaret held out her hand for her to squeeze. Fanny did so, and Margaret was sure she heard something crack.

They remained like that, Fanny gripping onto the bedpost with one hand and crushing Margaret's hand with the other, until the Doctor came and insisted on prizing Mrs Watson away from the bedpost and guiding her onto the bed.

Margaret went to leave the room and was surprised to feel Fanny tugging on her elbow.

"Don't leave me alone, Margaret. Please, at least until Mother is here. You are kind." Fanny said, her voice weak.

This Fanny was quite unlike the Fanny Margaret knew, but she was happy to indulge her sister-in-law's wishes. She sat down on the bed by Fanny's head, taking her hand while Doctor Donaldson examined her. Fanny lay on her side, the usual way a woman was examined in birth. Edith had told her. It was to avoid having to look the doctor in the eye, to save embarrassment. A fig to embarrassment, Margaret thought, when engaged in an act so important as childbirth.

Hannah arrived as quickly as she could, her face red and eyes panicked. She looked at Margaret, her hand still being slowly crushed by her daughter's iron grip, and nodded her thanks. Fanny sobbed in anguish as more pain ebbed through her, and Margaret looked down at the doctor who had turned away to arrange some rather terrifying implements on a tray. Margaret looked away.

"Fanny." Hannah knelt beside the bed, stroking the hair from her daughter's face. "I'm here, duckie."

Margaret had never heard her mother in law utter such a tender word to her daughter, and to her horror she felt tears prick her eyes. She got up to let Hannah take her place, untangling Fanny's fingers from her arm.

"Shall I go?" Margaret whispered to her mother in law. "Can I fetch anything? Do anything?"

Hannah Thornton settled herself in the chair beside the bed, her eyes not leaving her daughter who was breathing heavily.

"Run to the mill and fetch John, and tell him to get Watson here as quick as he can manage. I did not have time to get him myself." Hannah instructed. "Margaret, thank you."

Margaret nodded, racing out of the room and out of the house. She ran all the way to Marlborough Mills, though perhaps it would have been quicker to get Watson first. Fanny's house was not attached to Watson's mill as John's was, though, and Margaret was not sure she knew the way or where she would even find her brother in law. She flew through the yard and into John's office, not bothering to knock.

He looked up in alarm at her sudden ungracious invasion of his business, and Margaret realised he was currently conducting a meeting.

"Margaret." He said with a furious glare. "This isn't-"

"It's Fanny." Margaret wheezed, steadying herself on the doorframe.

"If you'll excuse me." John muttered to his associate, holding out a hand and shaking it.

The man left, though not without a bemused look at the red faced wife of Mr Thornton hanging off a door frame.

"She's in labour, your mother wants you to find Watson as quickly as you can." Margaret told him, her words running together in the urgency to convey the message.

"Is she well?" John asked urgently as he grabbed his coat.

"She is in pain, but the doctor seemed pleased with her progress. I will go back to her house and wait for you." Margaret said, letting out a shaky breath. "She is well, John, I promise. The doctor did not seem alarmed."

John paused by the door, and Margaret could see his hand was shaking. She took his hand in hers and raised it to her lips.

"All will be well, John. Now go, and please hurry. Though I don't know what good it will do to have the pair of you men sitting downstairs fretting for hours."

Margaret left her husband and raced back to the house, running through winding streets with not a care for her burning legs. She stopped once she reached the front door, knocking to be let in. Someone she did not recognise, presumably from the kitchen, let her in with a timid nod of the head.

Margaret did not know if she should return to Fanny's bedroom, but how else was she to tell her mother-in-law that she had done as she had been asked? She went upstairs and gently knocked on the door.

Hannah opened it a crack, and when she saw it was Margaret she opened the door wider for her to come in. Childbirth was a secret between women, and now Margaret had seen the beginnings of it she was welcomed back. She was not sure that she wanted to be there, or how on Earth she could be of assistance rather than a hindrance.

"Jane is no use to me." Hannah said in an irritated bark. "I've had to send the silly girl away, with her sniffing and sobbing. Margaret, there is not much to do but mop her brow and give her encouragement. I fear you might be more encouraging than me."

"Mother don't leave!" Fanny screamed. "Don't leave me!"

"I'm not leaving, love. I'm right here." Hannah soothed her daughter. "Doctor, how close is she?"

"I'd say there's a matter of minutes to go. I've never known such a quick birth for a first pregnancy, especially not with all the trouble Mrs Watson has had."

Hannah's eyes widened, a panicked look to her daughter on the bed. Even Margaret, with what little knowledge she had of child bearing, had never heard of such a quick birth. There was fear in Hannah's eyes.

"Minutes?" Fanny asked wearily. "Promise?"

"There are no promises in childbirth, Fanny." Her mother told her. "Come on, get back on your side, there's a good girl."

"I can't move." Fanny sobbed. "Mother I am too tired."

Hannah clicked her tongue, brushing her daughter's hair from her face and looking her straight in the eyes. Fanny whimpered, shaking her head. Her stubborn nature had not lessened even in the state she was currently in. Hannah was equally stubborn, and Fanny would not have her way.

"Fanny, you are almost there. Then you need never have another baby if you don't want to, but you've got to have this one."

Hannah was not wrong, Margaret thought - she was not exactly encouraging.

Margaret stood awkwardly, not sure what to do. She heard the door slam below, and the heavy sound of footsteps on the stairs. She looked in alarm at her mother-in-law, who jolted her head towards the door in a signal that Margaret should deal with whoever may be on the other side.

Margaret opened the door a tiny crack and slipped out, coming face to face with Watson.

"How is she?" He asked in panic.

Margaret was more than a little surprised to see the state of the man; his face drenched with sweat and void of colour, his hands wringing themselves raw in front of him. This was a man in sheer terror, a man in love. Margaret had never seen the love between Fanny and her husband, yet now it was impossible to ignore.

"She is well, Mr Watson." All these months and she still did not call him by his name. Fanny did not either. "The doctor says the baby will be with us very soon, she is making excellent progress. The quickest he has seen."

"Oh my girl." The large man stared at the wooden door as though he could see through it. "You will tell her I am here, waiting for her, won't you?"

"Of course." Margaret nodded, still astounded at how different this man, so often vulgar and brutish, was rendered in this situation. "Go and join John downstairs, we will call you when the baby is here."

Margaret turned and went back into the room. Fanny was panting furiously, and Margaret did not look down the bed. Though there was no dignity in childbirth, Margaret could at least try and afford her sister-in-law a little privacy. She turned her back, seeing Fanny and Hannah and nothing else.

"You are doing marvelously, Fanny." Margaret said, in a vague attempt to be encouraging as Hannah had requested. "Watson is waiting for you, he sends you all his love. Soon you'll be holding your beautiful baby."

Fanny gave a weak smile at that.

"Mrs Watson, I want you to push. Short, sharp breaths as you push." Doctor Donaldson instructed.

Fanny shook her head.

"I am so tired!" She groaned.

"Fanny." Margaret knelt beside the bed and took her hand. "Fanny look at me. Listen to the doctor and soon you will be holding your baby, who I'm sure will be the most beautiful creature any of us have ever known. You need to be brave. Come on, short, sharp breaths. Push, Fanny."

Fanny nodded, too delirious with pain and fatigue to argue. She groaned as she pushed, and after a few moments the room was filled with the high, reedy cry that could only belong to a newborn baby.

The three women gave a collective sigh of relief. Fanny sobbed, trying to sit up to see her precious baby, born at last after such a trying pregnancy.

Hannah got up from her daughter's side to join Doctor Donaldson, taking the child from him to a basin of water that had already been prepared. Margaret watched in awe as Hannah Thornton gently bathed the tiny creature. Margaret could see legs and arms waving wildly, that cry still filling the room.

"Mother, what is it?" Fanny asked. "Is it a boy?"

"A girl." Hannah said with a tiny, fond smile as she gazed upon her first grandchild. "A perfect girl."

This was not the news Fanny had expected, and her face crumpled.

"I thought it was a boy!" Fanny wailed. "Now I shall have to have another to give Watson a son!"

"Hush, my girl." Hannah said gently, walking across the room with a precious bundle indeed in her arms. "Now isn't the time to worry about all that, pet. Come, sit up and you may hold your baby."

Fanny held her arms out, and any disappointment she may have felt visibly melted as she caught sight of her daughter. Margaret felt her chest swell, pure love radiating around Fanny and her newly born little girl.

Hannah stood by Margaret and caught her arm, murmuring quietly in her ear so as not to disturb Fanny.

"Margaret, we need to finish here. Go downstairs and tell the men, but do not let Watson up until I have called you."

"Of course. Congratulations Fanny."

"Thank you Margaret." Fanny said, tearing her eyes away from her baby and smiling. "Thank you for being so kind to me."

Margaret merely nodded, slipping out of the room and walking down the stairs. How surreal this afternoon had been! First, to receive the welcome news that Dolores and her child were well, and then within the next two hours to help welcome Fanny's baby into the world.

She was not sure where John and Watson would be, and went around downstairs opening doors until she found them in Watson's study. At the sight of her, the man stood up, looking at her expectantly. She found the words died on her tongue; what if he was disappointed to have a girl as his first born? Men, especially men with business empires such as Watson, wanted sons.

"Well?" He pressed her, his brow furrowed. "Is she well? And the baby? We heard the cry."

"A girl." Margaret said, her eyes flicking to John for reassurance. "You have a daughter."

There was silence, silence that lasted too long. John looked at Margaret and back to Watson, the two Thorntons holding their breath waiting for Watson to say something, do something - anything! Then, the widest smile Margaret had ever seen spread along Watson's large features.

"A girl!" He said in wonder. "My girls. Can I see them?"

"Hannah wishes you to stay downstairs until the doctor has finished." Margaret told him.

Watson nodded, his eyes glazed as he stared straight through her.

"I'm going to tell the servants. Hell, I'm going to tell everyone in Milton!" Watson said, and to Margaret's surprise he kissed her on the cheek as he galloped past her. "A girl!"

John and Margaret stared after him, quite dumbstruck by the entirely unexpected reaction to his daughter's birth. Joyous was the only way to describe Watson at that moment.

"I thought Fanny said he wasn't fond of children." Margaret said as John rose from his chair to join her in the doorway.

He wrapped his arms around her, chin resting on her shoulder as they both stared at the empty hallway. He kissed her ear softly.

"Fatherhood can change a man, I suppose. They are both well? Fanny is not hurt?"

"No, not as far as I could tell. Fanny is exhausted, but happy. She did very well."

"Thank God. A girl. I have a niece." John said with a smile. "Fanny's going to spoil her rotten."

Hannah emerged around forty minutes later, and Watson followed her up the stairs like an eager dog. Margaret wondered if they should leave, but Watson came tentatively back downstairs with the baby bundled in his arms.

"This is Louise Watson." He said, running a fat finger down the child's cheek as he showed her to Margaret and John.

Margaret had been right; the baby had a thick mane of pale yellow downy hair. She leaned over to see the baby properly, admiring her perfect rosebud mouth puckered in sleep, tiny fists peeping above the blanket. She was all chubby cheeks, Margaret had never seen such a beautiful babe.

"Oh!" Margaret breathed, reaching out to touch her cheek. "What a beauty she is. Louise, what a lovely name, like little Princess Louise. What of her middle names?"

"Hannah Margaret."

Margaret looked up from the baby in stunned surprise.

"What?" Margaret asked, unable to form a more eloquent question she was so shocked.

"I must confess I was a little surprised myself! Fanny says she is eternally grateful for your kindness to her. She will never forget it. I too, will never forget the promise you both made her. Let us talk no more of it though; I was a fool to think I could hand over my girl. Praise God Fanny is healthy and we need pay it no mind." Watson said, his eyes never leaving the bundle in his arms.

Margaret could not imagine parting this man from his child; it did her heart good to see a man so enamored by his offspring.

"Of course." John said. "Might I hold her, just for a moment?"

Margaret watched as Watson clumsily passed the baby over, and John took her equally clumsily. Margaret rushed to arrange the babe properly in John's arms, showing him the correct way to support the head. She felt her heart leap as he looked upon his tiny niece with a small, overawed smile.

"She's perfect." He said, his deep voice almost unnaturally quiet now so not to disturb the new life nestled in his arms. "Congratulations, Watson."

"Thanks, old man." Watson took the baby back. "Better get this one back to her ma. Fanny told me not to stay away too long. So it begins, I'll forever be second fiddle to this angel. I'd have it no other way."

John and Margaret slipped out of the house, walking in a slightly dazed silence back to the mill. Margaret looked at John, thinking what a fine father he would make when the time came. Still, it would not do to wish too far into the future - there was nothing to worry about, the time would come when they would welcome children. Margaret was certain of it.

That night, she climbed into bed utterly exhausted by the day's emotions, curling tight against her husband. She closed her eyes against his chest, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her. It was easy to sleep like this, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and love.

"What a day." John said quietly, his voice vibrating through his chest and against Margaret's ear. "Everything has worked itself out."

"As tidily as if we had wrapped it with a ribbon." Margaret yawned. "I hope that is the last strife we will face for some time."

"Aye, pray that it is. I never thought I'd see the day when my sister willingly named her baby after you." John said with a chuckle.

Margaret laughed.

"I know! I am sure it was just the pain making her mind foggy, and tomorrow she will change her mind. I did not think she would ever wish to have her child associated with me in such a way!"

"You've been good to her. She told me she would name the baby Albert John if it were a boy. I suppose I can tell you now, I've been keeping the names a secret. She told me them in case - well, in case she did not live."

Margaret looked at him. Though she had known about the promise he had made Fanny to take care of her child should she die, she did not know that he had been carrying that secret around with him. Margaret kissed him softly, her hand on his cheek. Her husband was truly a man of honour.

"You're a fine brother, John. Oh, I feel lighter than air that everything has turned out right. Now we must wait for Edith to have her baby and then everyone will be alright."

"Hope that winter treats us kindly." John said.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's been edited to add a sex scene. Because I'm classy.

Autumn rolled on, the days growing darker and bitterly cold. Margaret felt damp right down to her bones whenever she stepped outside. The school room, though there was a fire burning constantly in the corner, was exceptionally cold at times. There was little to be done, and the children did not seem to mind it. Margaret realised why - the school was probably warmer than most of their homes.

As a result of the driving damp and cold, Margaret tried to make the lessons shorter, sending the children on their way just after two o'clock each day. The lessons had originally been intended, all those months ago, to only take place a few times a week and to be kept to the mornings. Now, Monday to Friday, the school room was packed to the rafters with surprisingly eager pupils.

Margaret usually returned to the house once the school room was clean and tidy, ready for the next day. There had been so much to do that she had lost track of time, and it was only when she heard the last whistle that she realised she had been standing in the dark scrubbing slates clean. John came to find her, amused at his wife's dedication to her work.

"I thought I was the one who worked over his time." He said, though she could scarcely see him. "Come home, love. It's too cold in here, you'll catch your death."

"I just need-" Margaret began, walking over to the corner where she kept the broom.

She cleaned the room herself, not wanting to distract any servants from their tasks. Though, as Mrs Thornton constantly grumbled, Dixon could probably have done with a few more tasks. Margaret did not like to ask her though; Dixon had arthritis, and the damp did her no favours.

"No, Margaret." John's voice was firm, the master coming out. "Come home. I'll not have you make yourself ill. Home."

Margaret pursed her lips, wondering how it came to be that her husband could order her and she felt so utterly helpless to do anything but obey. Of course, she had been raised to do as she was commanded by men but she rarely did so without at least a word of objection. Yet when John asked - told - her to do anything, she felt bound to do as he wished.

"I suppose you are right." Magraret relented. "I can scarcely feel my fingers to tell you the truth."

The reason it was so easy to obey him was that he never asked much of her. He allowed her her freedom, the choice to make her own decisions. Even her money, though he now technically owned it all, was still hers in his eyes and he steadfastly repaid the loan each month. In a world where men controlled women, she thanked her stars that she had found a man who not only loved her, but treated her as his equal.

The first months of their marriage had passed alarmingly quickly. The days seemed to slip past at a dizzying speed. It was late October, and the warm summer heat in which they had married seemed so long ago. Margaret had quickly settled into married life, though the running of the Thornton household still fell to the elder Mrs Thornton. Margaret was reluctant to strip her mother-in-law of the responsibility and Hannah seemed in no rush to surrender it. And so, Margaret managed the school room and the house was in Hannah's hands.

John had been busier than ever. Margaret did not think he could spend more time at the mill, but he was there constantly. He had been on a business trip to France the previous week, to Le Havre. Margaret had missed him terribly, more than she thought possible. It was funny how easily one became accustomed to the weight of someone else in the bed beside you.

"How was your day?" Margaret asked as she locked the school room for the day. "There was quite a ruckus at lunch time. The children were scrambling over one another to see the cause, but they were rather too small to get a good view. Tom was most disappointed."

"Aye, two women fighting. Over a man, of course, some man who probably doesn't deserve either of them. I sent them away, I won't have scrapping in my yard."

"Will they find other work?" Margaret asked.

"At seperate mills, hopefully." John shrugged. "I do not know. If they can't keep their personal lives out of their work, there's no place for them at any mill, least of all mine."

"But how will they manage?" Margaret frowned. "Have they children?"

"No. Neither of them are married, least of all to the man they were arguing over. It isn't the sort of behaviour I'll have here, Margaret. It's a distraction we could do without. Half the workers are ill, coughing and sneezing all over the place. We don't need brawls in the yard as well."

"Is it serious? The illness?" Margaret asked.

"Just the usual winter sickness, though it's come early this year. It's the damp." John shrugged. "It'll pass over soon enough."

"Have you ever been ill?" Margaret asked.

She recalled his mother saying her son did not sicken, yet Margaret found it hard to believe that he could be surrounded by illness and never succumb.

"No, not really." John shrugged. "A cold or two, when I was younger."

"Is there much sickness in your mill?" Margaret asked - she had never really considered that before.

"We had a cholera epidemic in Milton, about five years ago. Dark times, horrible times. We lost a good many workers, I'd say one in five households lost someone then. We closed for weeks to try and stop the infection, it was like a plague gripping us. Still, things seem to have improved since then."

"How terrible." Margaret said. "I cannot imagine such a thing."

"There was a pandemic all over the world. The papers reckoned around fifty thousand people died in England and Wales. Did you not hear of it?"

"I must have done." Margaret tried to recollect. "Perhaps I had just forgotten."

She felt ashamed of her ignorance. In truth, her life had never been touched by disease or sickness. Helstone had been blessed enough to avoid any major outbreaks of illness, save for chickenpox or the occasional case of measles. In London, Aunt Shaw was careful to keep the children in her care away from anyone who might infect them with any illness. Any servants were carefully watched and sent away to recover at the first sign of sickness.

Hannah was out, still visiting Fanny though she had visited Margaret at the school room to tell her she would be back for dinner. Fanny's confinement had not yet finished, her recovery from the birth taking longer than anticipated. She was even more frustrated than she had been before the birth, though she had bucked tradition and allowed her closest friends to visit. Margaret had been to see her most evenings, delighting in holding the tiny baby whenever Fanny allowed her to. Fanny was a fiercely protective mother, watching over the baby with sharp eyes.

Dixon greeted Margaret at the door, asking if she needed help dressing for dinner. Margaret shook her head; she was too tired.

"There's a pile of post for you, Mistress Margaret. I've left it in Mr Thornton's study."

Margaret did not receive many letters, so was surprised to hear that she had received enough to constitute a "pile". She made her way to John's study. They often spent time together in there, and he had had a small armchair put in there for his wife to sit in. It was a companionable way to pass an evening.

The first letter, as Margaret sat down to read, was from Fred. It was a letter full of happy news about his little daughter and his wife. They continued to thrive, Dolores fully recovered and enjoying being a mother. Such a happy letter made her heart glad.

The second letter was also full of happy news - news that Margaret felt rather responsible for, given her matchmaking at her own wedding.

Dear Mrs Thornton,

I am writing to you to inform you that I have asked Mr Latimer for his daughter's hand in marriage. He has consented, as has Miss Latimer. We are to be married in the spring. I will be coming to Milton in November, and Miss Latimer's family hope to have a small dinner party to celebrate the engagement. I hope you and Mr Thornton will join us.

Sincerely,

Henry Lennox

Margaret almost laughed at the letter she held in her hands. Of course, she had heard all about the engagement from Fanny. Though still sequestered in her house recovering from the birth, no gossip ever escaped Fanny Watson's ears.

Oh, Henry. Though more than two years had passed since he had awkwardly proposed to her in Helstone, time had not made him any more romantic or sentimental. His words were as stilted and wooden as if he were describing a business transaction. Margaret did not know Anne well, perhaps she would be quite content with a man like Henry.

"What have you got there?" John asked. "You're grinning."

"A letter from Henry." Margaret said. "I was right all along."

"Oh?" John looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It would appear he is to be married in the spring, to Anne Latimer." Margaret folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the envelope. She placed it to the side, and reached for the next letter in the small pile of post that had been set aside for her.

"Didn't Fanny tell you that last week?" John asked with a hum of amusement. "Having a baby has clearly made my sister be able to see into the future."

Margaret laughed; motherhood had not changed Fanny much. Perhaps the biggest change was that she could now talk about baby Louise for hours, rather than herself. It was lovely seeing Fanny take to motherhood so well but Margaret was not sure that she could stand one more conversation about how small the baby's feet were.

"Yes, she did. Anne rushed to tell her as soon as she was asked, I'm surprised she even stayed long enough to accept his proposal. But Henry has written to me to tell me of his own accord, and to invite us to a celebratory dinner party next month. It is not a formal invitation, but I shall write back to him to accept."

John made a funny noise, a huffed sigh - not unlike a dog who had just been told to shoo. Margaret looked up at him, trying not to laugh at his vocal irritation. It was no great secret that John was not fond of Henry. Indeed, it was no secret that Henry had incited great jealousy in her husband - though, of course, there was no cause for it.

"An evening of Henry Lennox glaring at me across a table. I shall mark it in my diary." John replied under his breath, and Margaret could not help but laugh.

"Oh, I am sure he will be far too enamoured by his new bride to continue any petty argument with you, darling. I am happy for them. They are a good match, I stand by it. I am sure Anne will be thrilled to move to London and enter society. That expensive Swiss education will serve her well." Margaret noted, looking down at the envelope in her hand. It was addressed to Margaret Hale, forwarded on from Harley Street.

The handwriting was not one that she recognised, and she looked for a postmark.

Argentina.

She closed her eyes, her hands freezing. She knew full well what this letter contained; indeed, she had been waiting for it.

"Margaret?"

"It is from Argentina." Margaret opened her eyes.

"Bell?" John asked.

"I expect so. I am not sure I can open it, knowing that it likely contains bad news. Will you read it for me?"

He walked over to her and took the letter, sitting beside her. He opened it with nimble fingers, extracting the letter inside and reading what was written. Margaret watched as his eyes rapidly scanned the page, and she could see by the crease in his brow that the letter contained precisely the news she had expected.

"I'm sorry." John told her, his hand finding hers. "The letter says it was peaceful, in the end. Mercifully quick. The letter's dated from the last week of July, the post is slow from that part of the world."

How strange to think that Mr Bell, her father's dearest friend, had been dead for some five months. Margaret wondered if there had been any mourners at his funeral, if his death had left any impact on those around him, so far away in South America. She just hoped he had been cared for well - though, with his money she was sure he had been.

"I wonder if he ever received the letter I wrote him telling him of our engagement. He would barely have had any time at all in Argentina after the long journey there, but I am glad he did not suffer in his illness. It is just strange to think that he is gone, truly gone and not just far away. He was the last connection to my father." Margaret said, realising her own selfishness for placing her father above Mr Bell.

"What about me?" John asked.

"What?" Margaret asked, still staring down at the letter.

"I knew your father well, we spent hours together. Your father is not forgotten, Margaret. We will remember him every day. And Bell, of course. Though I can't pretend we got on well, I had a great deal of respect for him."

"I was very fond of him, though he was a little eccentric. He has done so much for us - I wonder, would we be sitting here together if not for him? I doubt it."

"I hope we would have found a way to one another, but you're right enough. I owe that man a great debt." John pressed a kiss into his wife's hair, his hand finding hers. "A great debt indeed."

"Oh, it is almost eight. You are dining with your friends tonight, aren't you? I am not hungry, I think I shall go to bed."

"Are you avoiding spending the evening alone with my mother?" John asked, trying not to laugh. "You're not very subtle about it."

"No! No, nothing like that. I am tired, and not hungry. I wish to be alone, that is all."

Margaret was not sure what she felt; she almost felt nothing. There was sorrow, of course, but Bell had been so open about why he was going to Argentina. It was hardly a shock, but she did not like to think that he had been gone for so long without her knowing. That he had died so far away, and those he left behind in England did not know to mourn him.

"I am sorry about Bell, Margaret."

"So am I. I shall see you tomorrow, try not to be too late to bed. And don't drink too much." She said with a smile. "Father told me about the dinner he had with you masters, all cigars and brandy."

"You know I don't smoke." John said. "A brandy, however, sounds about right after the day I've had. Sleep well, love."

Leaving his wife alone - especially after finding out about Bell's death - was not ideal. Leaving her alone to listen to a group of self important men talk about the latest idea they'd had to shaft their workers was even less ideal. It had been months since he had joined them, and he had forgotten just how boring it could be. He thought of Margaret, alone in their bed, and bitterly wished he could join her.

The dinner had gone on for hours, and everyone around him was drunk. John had had his fair share, but he could hold his drink. He had always been able to enjoy alcohol without losing his head. Yet the others, they seemed to turn into fools at the slightest sip of brandy. Conversation had turned to Slickson's latest scheme.

"-so I said to my foreman, turn the clocks an hour forward and fine 'em all for bein' late. Made a pretty penny on that one, I did."

"Careful, Slickson. My dear brother in law doesn't approve of that." Watson laughed, draining his glass.

"Why should I want to trick my workers and steal from their pockets?" John asked wearily, slugging down his fourth glass of brandy without a thought. "Where's the sense in it? What good is it having workers who cannot trust their employers to behave better than a common thief?"

"You've not joined us for a good long while." Slickson said. "It seems you've lost what little sense of humour you had. Marriage worn you down?"

"Exhausted him, more like." Hamper chimed in. "You can see the circles under his eyes!"

John rolled his eyes at the crude cheers that rose from around the table, saying nothing but unable to suppress a tiny grin. Though he had been occupied with his work, he had often stayed awake longer than he needed to enjoy the soft welcome of his wife. He would not share that with these apes; it was not a bawdy encounter to be shared. It was sacred.

"Who'da thought it, eh? Thornton a married man who's too busy to talk business of an evening for near enough these past five months. I hear you're doing well again." Hamper said.

Though he had seen a few of the men in business settings, this was the first time he had seen any of them (save Watson, obviously) since his wedding. They observed him like a caged animal in a zoo, with strange curiosity.

"We've exceeded my expectations." He shrugged. "It all went rather more smoothly than I thought. The workers have behaved themselves, the supply has been good, we've completed contracts on time. It has been constant hard work, of course."

"Aye, and that wife of yours came with a hefty dowry." Watson said, puffing on his cigar.

John stiffened. He had not told anyone of Margaret's loan to him - nor was Bell's gift to Margaret common knowledge. He had certainly not told Watson, who could never hold his tongue after a drink, of his financial arrangements.

Fanny.

"I don't suppose your lovely wife told you about that, did she?" John said, irritated at his sister's loose tongue. "She never could keep a secret."

"Aye, she did. Though did you not think we'd all wonder how the hell you managed to save yourself so quickly?"

Slickson let out a low whistle.

"Pretty and rich. Quite a catch, Thornton. Pity about the mouth on her." Hamper muttered.

John's hand tightened on his glass.

"Aye, nothing ruins a pretty face like a woman who thinks she has a brain." Slickson continued. "Though I suppose you could always cover her mouth if you grow tired of it. Or keep it busy."

"Hold your tongue." John bit out, fury coursing through his veins.

He could handle any insults directed at him - but he would not hear a word said against Margaret. Margaret who was so kind to all she met, Margaret who knew her own mind and was not afraid to speak out, Margaret who worked tirelessly to improve the futures of Milton's poorest children with no benefit to herself - she did not deserve the vulgar judgement of these idiots who seemed to think the only value in a woman was what lay between her legs.

"C'mon Thornton, you're getting touchy."

"Hold. Your. Tongue." He repeated, his low voice silencing any chatter that had been going on around the table. "You have no right to speak about my wife in such a way. Hell, you don't even deserve to know her."

"What, are you better than us now?" Slickson challenged him with narrowed eyes. "With your little Southern wife with all her airs and graces. You're no grander than the rest of us, Thornton. At least we don't rely on women to get us out of messes of our own making. You cocked it up, and in swans your Southern whore to fix it all - and trap you into marrying her. We all heard what she was up to after dark at Outwood Station."

John slammed his glass down onto the table. By some miracle it did not shatter, but he stood up with such force his chair tipped back. Watson stood up too, grabbing his brother-in-law by the shoulder and holding him there.

"John." He said in a low voice. "Don't do this."

John's temper was no secret amongst these men, and they did not doubt that he would use his fists. He was the youngest, and the fittest - no man stood a chance against him, nor did they want to try.

"How dare you speak of a lady like that?" John asked, shrugging Watson's grasp free and standing by Slickson's chair. "I'd punch you in the face if I didn't have to go home and look her in the eyes. You're no sort of man."

"I'm man enough." Slickson stood up. His fist caught John off guard.

He staggered backwards, his hand going to his nose. There was blood, and John saw red. He had tried for so long to keep his temper in check, but he could not hold it now. He punched Slickson straight in the nose, and again without stopping. He paused with his fist in mid air ready to strike again. He imagined the disappointment not only in Margaret's eyes but his mother's. He was better than this, beating this stupid bastard who had already begun to plead for mercy.

He turned, grabbed his jacket, and left.

He practically ran home, his breath coming in ragged pants as he raced to his wife. He had behaved like an animal, a thug. He had been punched in the face. His nose throbbed. There was blood in his throat.

He practically vaulted up the stairs to Margaret. She would hate him, hate what he had done, but he needed her. She was the only thing that could calm him from this rage; his sweet, fierce wife. She was asleep, as he had expected, the room silent save for her even breathing. He walked to the bed, the dying light from the fire illuminating her face. She was asleep on his side of the bed, facing the door as though waiting for him. She looked beautiful when she slept.

"Margaret." He knelt by her side, whispering into her ear. "Margaret, please."

"John? Is everything alright?"

"I am sorry." He leaned his head against the cool covers as he grasped her shoulders, as though he was praying before her. "I am sorry."

"What?" She asked groggily. She fumbled on her bedside table, reaching for a match and lighting the lamp that stood on John's beside table. He looked up at her. "John! You're bleeding."

"Slickson punched me in the face."

"What?!" Margaret asked in horror. "What on Earth has happened?"

"I punched him twice." John admitted. "He got the first one in, but I think I had better aim."

Margaret gasped. That was what he had been afraid of - he could see her eyes. She did not look pleased. That look of hers was another punch to him, this time straight in the gut. He was no gentlemen - this was yet another reminder that he was capable of base behaviour.

"Is this some sort of hideous joke, John? You go to dinner with your equals and you engage in a fist fight?" Margaret cupped his face, kissing his forehead.

He did not deserve her tenderness.

"I cannot tell you what he said, but believe me when I say I would do it again ten times over." John took her hands in his, looking straight into her eyes.

She tried to smile, and John could not help but see the tear that slipped down her cheek. He brushed it away, catching sight of his cut knuckles. Another reminder of his savagery.

"John, you must control your temper. Will he ever associate with you again? Will anyone?" Margaret asked. "You have worked so hard, you cannot be violent towards these men. You need them on your side."

Margaret took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at his face. John winced, but did not protest. He was not in any position to complain.

"I do not care." John replied. "I could not care less what they think of me."

"Oh, John. Your poor nose. It is rather swollen." Margaret's head leant to the side as she assessed the damage to his face. "I do hope it isn't broken. I'm rather fond of your nose."

The love he saw in her eyes almost broke him. He did not deserve this woman, this angel who still somehow wanted to take care of him even when he had let her down.

"Will you still love me even if I have a nose like a marrow for the rest of our lives?" He asked, resting his head on her lap.

"I suppose so. Oh John. Promise me you will never fight again, I hate it." Margaret pleaded. "And do not get blood on my nightgown, it is new."

He lifted his head.

"I swear."

He got up and readied for bed. Margaret sat cross legged under the covers, observing him carefully. She often watched him undress - her eyes fixed on him like a predator. Tonight, however, she would not be jumping on him. She was trying to work him out, and she managed it with alarming accuracy.

"John." Margaret hesitated. "This fight - it wasn't because of me was it?"

"What?" John's head snapped up as he removed his trousers. He almost lost his balance.

She must be some sort of psychic. How could she have guessed?

"I cannot think of much that would make you fight one of your friends. I know that men talk without restrictions at such gatherings, and perhaps - perhaps Slickson did not speak kindly of me. If that is the case, I ask that you do not engage in violence on my behalf again. I do not condone it. In fact, I forbid it. Let them talk, John."

John kicked off his trousers and walked to his angel, this woman who seemed to have unending patience with him. He would protect her for as long as he lived.

"He said disgusting things, Margaret. I'd be no husband to you if I let him away with it." He shook his head, kissing her gently on the lips. It hurt to do so, but he did not care.

"Oh John." Margaret sighed, moving back and looking at his bloodied nose. "What did I do to deserve you?"

“I ask myself that everyday. I do not deserve you, love. You should be married to a better man than one who cannot control his temper.”

“In truth John, though I do not approve of you using violence - I am appreciative of your defense. It means very much to me, but I am still cross with you. Your poor nose. Come, sit down. I shall get a cloth and clean you.”

John did as she commanded, unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric was stained red with his blood. The shirt was good as ruined, and he threw it down in anger. A perfectly good shirt now needed replacing, a waste of money and entirely his own fault. Margaret returned, sitting before him and wiping the blood from his face. She was so careful, so tender. She shuffled closer, her legs either side of his. She did her job with great care. He was a beast, he did not know what he had done to earn the love of this divine woman.

“I’m sorry, does that hurt?” Margaret asked.

She leaned towards him to get a better angle, her fingers holding onto his neck.

“You’re getting two black eyes. I can see them already. What will your mother say?”

“She’ll be angry. She always hated me fighting.” John winced. “Careful, love.”

“I am sorry.” Margaret pressed a kiss to his cheek.

She finished cleaning his face, and placed the cloth on the table beside them. John wondered if she would move - though he did not want her to. It had been months, yet he still felt a burning need to be close to her. They made love two, three times a week, yet he found his thoughts almost constantly consumed by her. She did not move from her position astride him, instead she pressed herself tight to him and locked her legs behind his back. Sitting flush in his lap, she whispered in his ear.

“I love you for defending me, John. It does me no good to see you like this.” Her voice cracked. “Please, never do this again. Never.”

“I have already sworn it.” John replied through gritted teeth as her hands, still damp and rather cold, began to roam his bare back. “Margaret..”

Margaret buried her face in his neck, kissing her way from the crook of his shoulder to just below his ear. They had made love often, yet Margaret was still tentative in the way she touched him. She was timid with her kisses, though she had discovered a spot near his hair that never failed to drive him absolutely wild. She did not let go of him, her hands already pulling at his underwear. She was not usually so bold, and John lifted his hips to allow her to remove them. He did not want to let her go, not for a moment. Having her astride him was wonderful, the friction between their hips new and intoxicating. He grabbed at the hem of her nightgown, tugging the material up over her knees. She pulled it over her head. He ran his hands over her thighs, marvelling as he always did at the soft, perfect skin he found there. Her body was perfect; a paradise which he was privileged to visit. His fingers danced upwards until he cupped her in his hand. She jumped at the contact, gasping into his neck. It often happened that they fell into making love to one another as if quite by accident, fleeting touches spiralling out control until neither could stand it. Tonight, John needed her. He felt fiercely protective over her; how dare anyone try and insult her? She was his, and he would fight for her. He would kill for her.

Margaret went to lie beside him, but his hands kept her there. He was not sure what possessed him, but he pushed her backwards. She fell flat onto her back in front of him, legs still wrapped around him. He launched forwards, and without a thought for what he was doing buried his face between her legs. He ran his tongue over her, groaning as he tasted her without a thought for decency. “John!” Margaret screamed, her hands moving to push his head away as her back arched hopelessly.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at her from his place between her thighs. “Shall I stop?”

“It is not-it is not proper!” Margaret hissed, her chest rising rapidly as she tried to keep her voice down. “We have never - you have never-”

“Then let me try.” John pressed a kiss to her thigh. “I need you.”

“But this seems-” John ran his tongue over her thigh, delighting as she moaned.

“I will not do it if you do not want me to.”

“I trust you. It is just - I have never heard of a man using his mouth!”

“I should hope not. Hardly proper conversation for a well raised young lady such as yourself.” John teased. He pressed a kiss to her sex, delighting in her gasp. “So?”

“Yes.” Margaret nodded.

As soon as she consented, he buried his face in her once more. This was sinful indeed yet he could not get enough of her. His nose throbbed and burned at the pressure but he did not care. It was not enough to be inside her, he needed as much of her as he could get. This woman who had dominated his thoughts for nigh on three years, this temptress who could drive him mad with the briefest of touches - she was his. He was hers, completely and utterly devoted to her. He was lost to her, and it was glorious. He could not focus on anything, he could not think of anything except pleasing her. He was almost painfully hard, but it did not matter. Margaret’s eyes were screwed shut, her bottom lip between her teeth. He did not know how long he had been there, but Margaret’s body tensed and he drove her to her downfall with almost sadistic pleasure. It was always thrilling to bring her to the edge, to make her come apart with pleasure but doing it with his mouth - it was more wonderful than he could describe.

When he was sure she had had enough, he took both of her hands in his and pulled her up. She shook her head, throwing her head back and laughing as she struggled to catch her breath. He did not kiss her, unsure if that would be a step too far. Though she was certainly enjoying her role as a lover, he did not want to shock her - nor make her uncomfortable. She lay before him, smiling broadly.

“Goodness.” She said breathlessly. “That was - something.”

“Did you enjoy yourself, wife?” He rested his chin on her stomach, gazing up at her. She was flushed, a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Very much.”

John pulled himself up, lying stretched out flat on the bed beside her.

“Come, sit as you were before.” John held his hand out for her.

“What? John, what is going through your mind tonight? This is not how we usually-”

“Please, Margaret. I need you close to me, to hold you.” Margaret wordlessly did as he asked, knees either side of his hips. Staring him straight in the eyes, she lowered herself onto him. “Fucking hell.” He hissed.

He dug his fingers into the rounded flesh of her hips, as though he was scared she would leave him.

“John, you know I do not like it when you swear.” Her eyes were closed once more, her head thrown back as she protested weakly against his language. “Oh, my.”

She moved her legs forward, sitting flush against him. John could not keep upright, lying down beneath her and marvelling at the goddess who sat astride him.

“You will let me know if it is uncomfortable?” John asked, hips rising to meet hers.

“It is not uncomfortable.” Margaret replied instantly, bucking her hips against him. “It is wonderful.”

He was surprised that this new position meant that Margaret was entirely in charge. He had not expected her to take to this new role so easily. It was the greatest thrill to see her rolling her hips against his cock so eagerly. There was something primal in him that night. And in her, too, he thought. He sat up and buried his face in her chest, unable to look at her.

“You feel too good.” He mumbled, driving his hips upwards as her fingers splayed through his hair. A moan rose from his throat. “I cannot last.”

“Just a little longer.” Margaret pleaded with him as she moved with increasing abandon. “I am so close.”

That she was now comfortable enough with her body to announce to him when she was near the end did something to him. He bit his lip, wincing as he realised the top lip was split from the fight, and struggled not to fall apart inside her.

“Oh God.” John could not look at her. “I can’t last, Maggie.”

“I am so close, please. Harder.” She instructed him breathlessly, and he was powerless to refuse her. Her hands clawed at his back, her short nails surely leaving marks as she dug them in just to hold herself steady. His hips met hers with a speed he could not keep up for long. His hands were tangled in her loose hair as he tried to control himself, determined that he would let her have this. “Oh, fuck!”

Mercifully, she fell apart with a scream. He covered her mouth with his, knowing even in his current foggy state that such noise would cause unpleasant questions from the rest of the household in the morning. Knowing she had reached her peak, he let himself finish with a guttural cry that he could not suppress. They stayed still, chests brushing together as she held him tightly. He kissed her shoulder helplessly, enraptured by his wife’s new confidence. She was heavenly, she had always been heavenly but there was something new. He was finally starting to see the self assured Margaret from their daily life creep into their bedroom. She had lost the shame, the self awareness, and had just let herself - be.

She hesitantly climbed off him, suddenly mortified by what she had done. He pulled her to him, lying uncovered on their bed as she rested her head on his chest. Her fingers idly combed through the hair on his chest, heaving a contented sigh as she looked up to him.

“You swore.” He said triumphantly.

“I did not!” Margaret said, chin raised in defiance.

“You did.”

“You called me Maggie.” Margaret countered with a raised eyebrow. “You have never called me that before.”

“Margaret is rather long on the tongue when I am otherwise engaged.” He shrugged. “Do you dislike it?”

“Maggie.” Margaret repeated. “Maggie. I suppose I could endure it, just so long as it means you are making me feel like that.”

“Oh, Margaret. You’ll be the death of me.”


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

John woke up of his own accord, as he always did after so many years of waking up at such an ungodly hour. His face felt like ice; the bedroom was frigid with cold. He did not need to look out the window (and nor could he, as it was some hours before dawn and the world outside was still black) to know that a frost would have settled over the ground. After such a fine summer, it seemed inevitable that a harsh winter waited for them. It was only early November, yet he could already feel the chill in his bones.

Margaret slept peacefully, tucked up beneath the blankets in a ball. He could feel her toes against the side of his leg, one arm slung over his chest. He had never been bothered by the cold, but it was hard to step out onto the cold wooden floor and leave this blissful warmth. That was the hardest thing about being married to Margaret; it was terribly difficult to say goodbye to her each morning. The temptation to send everything else to ruination and consume himself with her was far too real. Luckily, he was a man who knew self-denial - and knew it well.

Knowing his way through the darkness of their bedroom, John got out of bed and walked to the fireplace. The room had always been susceptible to the weather outside, the carpet under his feet feeling damp with the cold.

John had always risen early, and did not want the bother of servants disturbing him to make the fire. So instead, as he had done every morning since they had become wealthy enough to employ any servants at all, he made the fire up himself. It would be of no benefit to him, taking an hour or so to warm the room effectively. It just meant that the room would be more comfortable for Margaret when she woke up; she did so feel the cold.

Once the fire had been lit, John readied himself for the day ahead. He was used to getting ready in darkness, and had even perfected shaving with hardly any light. That particular skill had been developed in his teen years, where he saw lighting a lamp or a candle just for himself as a waste. On this particular morning, darkness meant he did not have to look at his nose. Not that he needed to look; it throbbed constantly. It was more irritating than painful, a reminder that he had not managed to land the first blow.

Tying his cravat, he walked over to the bed. He could not remember a time when Margaret was not in it now. Those months - years - of longing for her seemed a lifetime ago now. She was here beside him in all things, and by God he would defend her until the last. She had made mistakes, she had been a little naive at times - but she had done everything with the very best of intentions. He would not have her insulted, least of all by that low life Slickson.

He slipped his shoes on, sitting down on the bed and leaning over to kiss Margaret's cheek. He did not like to disturb her, but it was too hard to resist saying goodbye, even if he did so silently.

"How's your nose?" Margaret murmured in a voice still thick with sleep, shuffling closer to him and blindly reaching for his hand. She pressed a kiss to his palm.

"Fine. Good as new." He replied in a low voice. "Go back to sleep."

She nodded, her eyes not opening once.

"I shall see you this evening." Margaret muttered, nuzzling her head into the pillow as she stretched out into his vacant side of the bed. "Shall we visit Fanny and the baby if you finish on time?"

"Aye, I'll try and get away in good time." He kissed her forehead. "Sleep well."

He closed the door quietly and walked down stairs. He could hear activity below; his mother would no doubt already be at the breakfast table. John had hoped to avoid his mother that morning. He wondered if he could avoid eating breakfast, but too much brandy and a rather late night meant that he was starving. Taking a deep breath, he walked in to find her at the table, as he had expected.

"Morning, Mother." He sat down, picking his paper up and trying to bury his face in it before she caught site of the state he was in.

"Good morning, John. Late night?" She asked. "I did not hear you come in last night."

"Aye, it was." John said, his head down so far he was practically wearing the newspaper as a hat. "You know how long these things go on for, Mother. All rather boring."

"It's been a good while since you've met with the other masters. What news?"

His mother had always taken a great interest not only in his mill but Milton's budding industries as a whole. She was extremely knowledgeable about the city's prospects, and greatly proud of her son leading the way.

"Nothin' much." He mumbled, wincing as his nose throbbed painfully to remind him that he was a terrible liar.

He had caught sight of himself in the mirror on the landing, illuminated by a lamp one of the servant girls always lit on her way down to the kitchen. Margaret had been right; two dark purple bruises sat beneath his eyes, his nose almost grotesquely swollen and bloodied. He looked awful.

"John, must I talk to you from behind a paper? Were you raised by wolves?" His mother asked him, stirring her tea. He could hear the clinking of the spoon against the china. "Tell me about last night."

John reluctantly lowered the newspaper, closing his eyes and waiting for his mother's reaction.

"Oh, Lord. What have you been doing with yourself?!" She asked.

John opened his eyes, unsurprised to see her standing over him. She could move mightily quickly when she wanted to. She took his chin in her hand, turning his face this way and that to thoroughly inspect the damage.

"It's not that bad." John said.

"Not that bad?! Your nose looks broken, you're battered and bruised like a common drunk in a bar fight! What did Margaret have to say about it?" She let go of his chin, tutting as she stepped back. "You look wretched."

John suppressed a smirk. Margaret had certainly not seemed too angry with him by the time they went to sleep.

"She doesn't like me fighting." He shrugged. "But I think she understood once I explained the circumstances."

His mother clicked her tongue.

"Who was it?"

"Slickson." The man's name was like acid on his tongue.

A sharp intake of breath. Slickson was one of the most respected men in Milton, and John was unsurprised by his mother's horrified reaction. Hell, it would probably have been better to fight with Watson than Slickson, in his mother's eyes.

"You're a fool to fight with him. Who threw the first?"

"He did. He only got one hit, mind. I wouldn't like to look at him this morning, he's sure to have come off the worst."

"John, this is nothing to be proud of. I raised you better than this! Your father raised you better than this."

"It was a matter of honour." John insisted. "Mother, I'm not a child. I make my own decisions, and I stand by what I did. He said vile things about-"

"Margaret." His mother interrupted. "I might have known you'd only do something so damned stupid because of her. You've fought before, but never with another master. You need to hold that temper of yours. Think of your reputation John!"

Hannah walked away from him, muttering under her breath. John could not catch the words, but there were no prizes for guessing that she was livid with him.

"What do you suggest, Mother, that I sit and allow my wife's good name to be slandered?! That I allow a bastard like Slickson to insult me? That I send a message to all that my wife is open to insult with no consequences at all?"

"Watch your language. No, I don't. But there are more civil ways to resolve a disagreement that don't end with two black eyes and a broken nose!" Hannah said, her voice growing quiet as it always did when she was truly angry.

"D'you think it is broken?" John asked. "I can't tell."

"Wait for the swelling to go down and it'll be easier to see. You're a fool, son. I'm furious with you."

"I'm sorry, Mother. It will not happen again." John said, feeling five years old.

"See that it doesn't. You need to control your temper, you can't lash out like this. People will say things you disagree with; use that brain of yours instead of your fist. It is the more powerful weapon." His mother urged him. "You're a respectable man, John. You're a magistrate, people look to you to enforce the law and you're going around fighting. You've had people up in court for less."

"I'm sorry Mother." John said again. "I have tried to control my temper, and I thought it was getting easier. But when he insulted her - I could do nothing to hold myself back."

"What did he say?" His mother asked.

"He called her a whore." John bit out.

The word was so far from what Margaret was, it burned him. It made him seethe with rage just to repeat it, and he vowed never to tell Margaret exactly what Slickson had called her. His mother took a sharp intake of breath; it was an insult indeed. Certainly, it was an unforgivable slur against a wife.

"That business at the station?" Hannah asked with her usual shrewd accuracy. "Is that why?"

"Aye, it is. She did not think of how it would look; I understand now that she just wanted to say goodbye to her brother, but if only Mr Hale had accompanied him instead. Her reputation was damaged for no reason, she has nothing to be ashamed of."

Mr Hale had clearly not been in his right mind, consumed by grief and loss not only of his wife but the sudden urgency of sending his son away. That nasty business with Leonards made the whole situation worse, and he counted his blessings that Margaret had been able to avoid true scandal.

"Aye, except assisting a criminal." Hannah countered. "What good would that do for her reputation, or yours? A magistrate involved in such murky business does not look good at all."

"I understand her brother to be innocent of the crimes he is accused of - or at least justified in his reasons." John said.

He had risked everything to protect Margaret; even though it was true enough that Leonards was not a healthy man and his death was almost certainly a coincidence, John could not help but reach that conclusion with as little investigation as possible. He could not bear to bring disrepute to her door, and indeed that of her father. At the time, he had burned with a fury that he had never felt before. Even if she had taken another lover, he could not stand to see her reputation take such irreparable damage.

"I do not know the intricacies of the mutiny case, John, but for a man like Mr Hale to risk everything to bring him to England and harbour him in his house - I think him a fool." His mother said. "Why endanger all of them? Margaret did not tell me much, but if he is a mutineer like I suspect he is, surely the gallows are waiting for him?"

John did not have the precise measure of what had happened when Frederick had come to England the previous year. Margaret had not discussed it beyond a few scattered details these past few months, and John did not care to press her on the matter. He did not know who had contacted Frederick to bring him to England, but it seemed unlikely to John that Richard Hale would take the initiative to do so.

Mr Hale had refused to acknowledge the very visible fact that his wife had been close to death for some time, telling John that she would soon be feeling better. At the time, John had wondered how Mr Hale could not have seen the poor state his wife was in, but even after just a few months of marriage, John knew that love made you blind to that which you did not wish to see.

"It was done to comfort Mrs Hale, would you have denied her the chance to see her son before she died? What would you do in the same situation?" John asked.

John and his mother had always shared a close bond. Though he was not a particularly sentimental man, John could not imagine the thought of never seeing her again. He had relied on her for some time; she had always been his anchor. Though Margaret had taken her place somewhat, he still valued her time and her advice as much as he ever had.

"If for some reason you had broken the law to such an extent and had found safety escaping to a foreign country, I would certainly not bring you back on my account!" Mother said. "I'd keep you alive abroad even if it meant I never saw you again. Rather a life without you than see you hanged, no matter the pain to my heart."

"Let's not discuss this. And do not mention it to Margaret, it is a very difficult subject for her." John said firmly. "I need to go."

"You've not eaten." His mother said. "Eat. You're too thin. You need your strength, especially if there is sickness in the mill."

"I meant to say, Mother. Don't come to the mill until it has cleared up. I don't want you sickening."

Hannah tutted. She hated being reminded of her age, but John knew that she was not as robust as she once was. He would do anything to keep her well, and he would not let her put herself in harm's way out of stubborn pride.

"I'm stronger than all that, John, I am not so old."

Hannah Thornton had always had a strong constitution, surviving on little food and living in the damp conditions that they could afford. But as time had passed, John had noticed that she was growing slower. Her hands had turned arthritic, though she sewed just as much as ever. She refused to succumb to age. However stubbornly his mother refused to acknowledge that she was growing older, illness would make no such allowances. He could not stand to lose her.

"Please. It is bad enough Margaret insisting on teaching when there is illness around, I won't have you exposed to it as well."

"Fine. I suppose I can spend most of my days with Fanny. She's driving Jane mad, I don't know why she hasn't hired a proper nurse for the child. Jane doesn't know one end of a baby from the other."

"How is the baby?" John had not seen the child since her birth six weeks ago.

The mill had been doing well, and he had barely found time to see his wife, yet alone visit his sister. Fanny was still confined to the house as she recovered, though the baby would have to be christened in the coming weeks once her mother was well enough to attend the service.

"Well, well. Blonde as Fanny and twice as loud." Hannah smiled. "You must come and visit, she'll melt your heart. I didn't think I would take to a baby so much, but she is a sweet little thing."

"You're going soft, Mother." John teased.

"Not too soft." His mother said, taking a sip of her tea. "My first grandchild is a special thing, after all. Hopefully it won't be too long until there's a babe in this house as well."

John raised an eyebrow. His mother had never been the type to coo over babies, and it surprised him that she was so vocal in her desire for more grandchildren.

"Aye, well, there's time for all that."

As John had promised, he returned home only five minutes after the last whistle. Margaret was surprised to see him so early, though glad. It would mean that the babe was more likely to be awake when they called to visit the Watsons. Little Louise really was a lovely little thing, and it had been so long since John had seen the child.

Fanny took them to the nursery, garishly decorated as he had expected. Margaret had seen the baby often, and had warned him that his sister's choice of decor was a little outlandish. She was not wrong; the cradle was enormous, a huge canopy over it. It must have cost a fortune.

Louise was much bigger than when he had last seen her; a month old, less wrinkled than she had been so shortly after her birth.

"She is not smiling yet." Fanny told him. "But I am certain she will soon. She barely cries, she is a dream really."

"She's beautiful. Can I hold her?" John asked, looking down at the cradle at the baby.

Margaret joined him, peering down at the child. Louise watched her, rounded eyes staring straight at her uncle. John placed his arm into the cot, offering the baby his finger. She gripped it tightly, and John visibly softened. He was so natural with children, Margaret thought. He did not share the same contempt many men did for them. Margaret felt a familiar longing in her heart; she tried to supress it.

"Yes, but do be careful with her." Fanny instructed him. "Watch her head."

Margaret watched as John held the tiny baby, smiling down at her and cooing at her. It was funny how so serious a man could be so loving, she thought. She thought, not for the first time, what a fine father he would make one day.

Margaret tickled the child's feet as John held her. The babe was free of her swaddling cloths, dressed only in a light shift and napkin. Her legs kicked at the sensation of Margaret's fingers on the soles of her feet. Margaret laughed joyfully, repeating the action while tickling her plump cheeks. John placed the baby back in the cradle at Fanny's disapproving tuts.

Watson came in and beckoned John out of the room, and Margaret looked after him as he left the room. The pair were hardly close companions, and it was most unusual that they would disappear off together in such a way. Margaret looked back at the child, smiling down at her.

"I meant to say, what on Earth has happened to John's face? He looks ghastly." Fanny said, sitting in the chair that sat by the crib. "Like a common ruffian!"

"He had an accident." Margaret said, not wanting to get into the incident last night. "I thought Watson might have spoken to you about it."

"Oh, I hardly see him. I sleep near the nursery. He does snore so, and I don't like to be too far should Louise need me."

Fanny had not engaged a proper nursemaid or a nanny, something that had come as rather a surprise to Margaret. Jane did much of the work involved in looking after a tiny baby, but Fanny had also done her fair share. Most women who had Fanny's money hired someone to do the tedious work of child rearing; Margaret admired Fanny for her apparent humility in that respect.

"Is she still sleeping well?" Margaret asked. "I know you said she had a little cough last week."

Margaret was right; Fanny's expression changed to one of glowing pride.

"Yes, though she is a rather light sleeper. The cough cleared up quickly, thankfully. The slightest noise wakes her, we all creep around like church mice so as not to disturb our little angel's sleep. We are lucky that we are not so close to the mill, I doubt she could get any rest at all with the terrible noise it creates."

"I suppose if it is all one knows, it is not so difficult." Margaret shrugged. "I hardly notice the noise now."

"I do not miss it one bit." Fanny continued. "Nor the smoke, or the workers knowing all your business if you dare to go out in the working day. All that muttering and sideways glances, they really are quite impertinent. I don't know how you can stand it."

"I do not mind it at all. I am so busy, with the schoolroom, that the workers all know where I am anyway. None of them care what I should do, just as I do not notice all that goes on in the yard." Margaret pressed a kiss to the baby's head.

"Are you still friendly with them?" Fanny asked, her nose wrinkling as though there was a bad smell in the room. "That union leader and his family, and those in Princeton?"

"Yes, though I do not see them as often as I would like. Mr Higgins is doing well, John speaks very highly of his work. His daughter Mary, she works in the kitchen at the mill. The young children left in his care are my pupils, I am very fond of them all." Margaret told her sister-in-law.

Margaret did not tell Fanny that she often walked the Boucher children home after lessons and stayed with them, sometimes for hours, merely for something to do. She enjoyed their company, and she liked to make sure they stayed out of trouble. Tom especially had a taste for mischief. She would wait until Mary came home from the kitchen each day. Mary was not as companionable as Bessy, who Margaret dearly missed, but she was a sweet girl.

"I do not know how you can teach so many. Mother said you have fifty pupils some days, all in that tiny little shed!"

"It is growing a little cramped." Margaret conceded. "In truth I was thinking of expanding. Though there is little room to spare, we would need to leave the mill. That would make things slightly more difficult, but I am sure I can think of a solution."

"All these ideas, Margaret. Once you have a baby, you will have no time for this charity work." Fanny said with a sour expression.

"It is not a charity." Margaret said, stung that her only worth in Fanny's eyes seemed to be attached to her ability to produce children. "It is a service, one I am happy to provide. When John and I have a child, I will continue my work when the child is old enough. Perhaps it shall be in a lesser capacity, but I will never abandon the school."

"I'm surprised John lets you spend so much time and money on it. It seems like something that only consumes money, rather than makes it." Fanny said. "It costs money to heat, money for supplies and materials, money for that teacher you hired. Yet there can't be anything coming in."

It seemed the good feeling between the two women that had come with Fanny's pregnancy had started to fade; Margaret felt defensive as Fanny questioned her work. Margaret had never asked for the support of John's family, she had never troubled any of them for anything. It hurt her that they could not see the use in her work, nor the value of it.

"I suppose it does not make money - I just hope to improve the lot of the children I teach. If they can read, they can do more complex work. They can learn new skills, the girls could become teachers rather than work in the factories. It keeps the young ones out of trouble, that is enough for me." Margaret was tired of defending herself. "The money it takes to run it is really not so much; I have my own money set aside for it."

She tickled the baby under the chin, and to Fanny's eternal fury was rewarded with Louise Watson's very first smile.

Margaret left a short while later, wondering where her husband had got to. She wandered towards the front door, and could hear voices from a room.

"You think it a good thing that he tricks his workers?" John was saying. "What if he gets found out, which he will! They'll think we all do the same, that we're all out to extort and swindle. I run an honest mill, I am an honest man!"

Margaret noticed that his accent, that thick Northern burr she had come to love so much, was even more pronounced than it usually was as he grew increasingly irate with his brother in law. She did not mean to eavesdrop on this private conversation between the two men, but found herself leaning closer to hear the conversation. What trickery was he speaking of? Margaret had heard whispers of masters, other masters, trying to con money out of their worker's pockets, but Margaret had (perhaps rather naively) dismissed the rumours as mere tittle tattle. Perhaps they were not unfounded at all.

"You're taking this too seriously. You're upset because of what he said about Margaret, there've always been little ways to get the better of the workers."

Yes, Margaret thought. She did not doubt that the masters had their ways; they looked down at their workers and thought of them as little more than cogs in a greater machine. Could they not see that these were human beings that depended on them? Did they truly not see the value that loyalty had?

That was what Margaret admired most about John; while he was not overly sympathetic to his workers, he at least gave thought to how he treated them. The wheels in all the sheds, the wages he had paid when the factory reopened even though he could not take them all back right away. The kitchen - the support he had given Margaret and her school room. Every decision he made was shrewd, Margaret had come to realise. She had heard just how desperate men were to work at Thornton's, knowing that though the work was just as hard and unforgiving, at least their master would be an honest man.

"Aye, and I've objected to them all. I'll not be lumped in with cheats, Watson. I am not 'upset' - I am merely objecting to the unnecessary cruelty, and stooping to a level that is below me, below this industry. I care about this industry and its reputation, I'll not have greed tarnish what is already a misunderstood trade. They think we kill our workers with poor conditions, now we're conning them out of their wages? You're a better man than that, you know what he's doing is wrong."

"Slickson will do as he pleases, there's no talking to him. You loosened his tooth you know."

"Good." John said. "The bastard broke my nose."

"It's only bruised. You need to thicken that skin o' yours."

"My skin is thick enough. Say what you like about me, nobody talks about Margaret. You sat there and listened. She's your family too, y'know. How would you feel if you sat there and they called Fanny a whore? What sort of a man-"

"A whore?" Margaret asked before she could stop herself.

There was silence. John opened the door fully, frowning at the sight of her. She cast her eyes downwards, shame burning in her chest.

"Margaret, what were you doing there?" John asked, coming into the hallway.

"I'm sorry, I could not help but overhear. I was simply trying to find you, we must go." She did not let her hurt enter her voice, merely nodding at Watson in farewell.

They did not really have to leave with such urgency, but Margaret did not wish to stay in that house. Watson nodded goodbye, and John offered her his arm as they walked out. They did not speak as they left the house, walking home in silence. Margaret looked around as they walked, wondering just how many others had called her such things.

"That is why you hit him." Margaret said as they reached home and John unlocked the heavy mill gates. "I knew he must have said something terrible but - I did not expect a man such as Slickson to call me a whore. I do not think I have ever been called something so vile."

"I am sorry, I did not want you to know. It burns me that he spoke of you like that." John muttered, his hand crossing his body to rest on Margaret's in the crook of his arm. He rested his hand over hers. "You understand why I could not sit still now? I had to send a message."

"Yes, but a message with your fists is no good John! It's to do with Frederick, isn't it? Oh, if only we hadn't been seen! It would be so wonderful if all of Milton could know the truth, that it was my brother! But they cannot, they can never know that we harboured him here. The damage it would do to your reputation as my husband - it would be worse than any name Slickson or any other man could call me."

John took her hands in his, kissing her forehead. They stood in the yard, empty and silent. He spoke to her in hushed tones, lest they be overheard.

"I know the truth. Mother and Fanny, they know the truth. Nobody else can know Margaret. It would ruin us. Fanny runs her mouth but she seems to have the sense to keep this quiet. There would be suggestion I did not do my job properly with the business of that man's death and I can't have that. The man was a drunk, his body gave up. There can never be any suggestion it were anything - sinister. I admit, perhaps I hurried the investigation along and kept you out of it to save your father heartache, but I would not have lied. You know that. I did not and do not believe that you had a hand in that man's death. I would stake my life that he would have died either way, the doctor was sure of it."

"I was so fearful you should reveal that I had lied about my whereabouts that evening. It was wrong of me, terribly wrong for me to rely on your goodwill and your previous feelings for me. That whole evening was terrible. I see it in my dreams sometimes." Margaret whispered.

"Aye, I've had more of my fair share of dreams about that damned evening." John muttered. "It is past us now. Best forget it, never speak of it."

"You despised me then." Margaret said.

"I never despised you. It was not possible; my love for you was destroying me. I was half a man." John said, pulling her to him. "You made me whole when you agreed to marry me."

"What a fool I was." Margaret said. "If I had said yes sooner, we would have had more time-"

John shushed her. There was no use regretting how things had transpired between them; it would change nothing.

"I'm glad you refused me. Well, perhaps glad is not the right word. I did not court you. You were right - I was no gentleman to you. I would do things differently, if I had the chance."

"We are here now." Margaret said softly. "I think things worked themselves out exactly as they needed to."


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless fluffy smut. Not even embarassed. This adds nothing to the plot, let's not pretend it does.

The matter of who would be Louise’s godfather had dominated all of Fanny’s conversations with Margaret for the last month; Fanny did not approve of any of Watson’s friends. She deemed them to be inappropriate role models for her precious daughter. Too many of them were bachelors, the others so boring or oafish that Fanny did not wish for the child to spend any length of time with them. So, eventually, it was settled that John would be Godfather alongside Margaret as Godmother (a choice that still stunned Margaret; it would seem that Fanny was rather more fond of her than her critiques of the schoolroom would have suggested.)

“I don’t see why.” He grumbled one evening as Margaret sat sprawled in his lap reading a book that Edith had recommended in her last letter. “I’m her uncle, I don’t need to be Godfather as well.”

Margaret shifted to look at him, her legs stretched out on the sofa. It was quite a scandalous way to sit with her husband, but Hannah had chosen to dine with Fanny that evening, and the servants had been given barked instructions by their master (who had returned from work almost suspiciously early, knowing they would have an empty house) to stay out of their way.

“It is an honour to be asked, love. I think it is rather sweet of her to wish us both to be godparents together.” Margaret reasoned, kissing the usual end-of-the-day stubble that had settled on his chin. Her eyes drifted back to her book - she had had little time to read of late. “Though I am sure no dress I own will be good enough for Fanny’s exacting standards.”

“I like your clothes.” John shrugged, settling his chin on her shoulder as he looked at her book. “Have you seen the gown Fanny’s ordered for the child? It is ridiculous. What is wrong with the Thornton christening gown, I do not know. We were both Christened in it, our other sister as well, and Father, and his father before him, and our grandmother first of all.”

Margaret looked up from her book at the casual mention of his other sister. She knew that there had been a child born between John and Fanny who had died in infancy, but she had never heard John speak of her. She suddenly wondered if that was why he had been so terrified of Fanny dying during her pregnancy and labour - he could not stand another loss in his family. How she had not thought of that before, she did not know.

“Goodness. That must be exquisite, and nearly a hundred years old!”

“It is, aye. It’s yellowed a bit, but Mother showed me it last week. It was one of the only things she did not sell after - after my father’s death. She was mending it, though now there’s no need.”

“Hopefully it will not be too long before it is needed.” Margaret said with a smile. She did not miss the look on John’s face and hurriedly corrected him. “Though not yet, before you think I am keeping secrets.”

Margaret tried not to flinch as his expression changed; he tried to hide it, but she caught the brief sagging of his mouth, the frown on his brow. Disappointment. He kissed her, taking her hand in his and squeezing it tightly.

“Our time will come. This book is terrible, by the way.” He nudged her shoulder with his nose. “Complete nonsense.”

“Excuse me!” Margaret protested. “I’m rather enjoying it. Perhaps I should go and sit elsewhere to read, without you peering over my shoulder.”

“Impossible.” John stated, his hands lacing round her waist to keep her in place. “You’re not going anywhere. Read to me. Perhaps I shall find this tripe rather more tolerable in your lovely voice.”

“I will not!” Margaret spluttered. “I would feel like I was a child at school again!”

“You read aloud to the children, I’ve heard you.” 

Margaret did indeed read aloud to her pupils, and was well accustomed to reading to others. She had often read to her mother, and to Frederick to pass long dreary winter evenings of their childhood when it was too cold to do anything but sit by the fire. Indeed, it was one of those evenings this very night. It was the middle of November, and outside a terrible wind rattled the windows.

“Yes, but you are my husband. I would feel terribly embarrassed. I shall lend you the book once I have finished, if you are so very keen to read it.” Margaret insisted as she tried to turn a page. He caught her wrist.

“I’m only interested if you read it to me.” He shrugged, kissing the pulse of her wrist and pulling her closer and burying his face in her neck. “Or perhaps we could go to bed. It’s been a long week, I could do with an early night.”

An early night implied sleep. The hot, needy kisses he was pressing against her skin did not suggest he was tired in any way at all.

“It is seven o’clock!” Margaret protested. “What on Earth would your mother think?”

“She is out.” John shrugged, his hands in her hair as he began to remove the many pins that kept Margaret’s hair tied back. “By the time she returns, it will be time for us to retire for the night anyway. What is the difference? This way, I can take my time with you and not be exhausted come morning.”

“John!” Margaret protested, batting his hands away as her hair began to tumble down. “Do not take my hair down here, the servants may see!”

“Let them.” He muttered, kissing her neck. “Let me take you to bed.”

“John!” Margaret gasped, turning her head this way and that to make sure they were alone. “Show some restraint.”

“All my life I’ve been showing restraint.” He murmured against her skin. “Damn restraint. Let me bed you.”

“The servants will talk.” Margaret protested weakly as he kissed her just above her collarbone. He knew all of her weaknesses and exploited them in the most wonderful way.

“Let them talk. It is not often I find myself home on time, and with an empty house..”

Margaret flushed furiously as she felt his hands dance along the length of her torso and up over her neck, fingers stroking at her throat. The way she was curled in his lap was scandalous enough, even for a married couple such as themselves. But for him to touch her so intimately in a public room when anyone could walk in - it was surely too far!

“It is not empty.” Margaret reminded him. “I believe the servants are nearby, no matter how strongly you tell them to stay away.”

“I just wanted you to myself. To read as we used to, before we were married. Curled up in your house, bold enough to touch so closely though we were not yet wed.” John told her. His voice was rich, the words he murmured in her ear full of poorly hidden lust. “Though now I can hold you properly with no fear of Dixon scolding us like a pair of naughty children. I cannot get enough of you.”

“It has been long enough since our wedding, I thought perhaps your passion would have cooled for me.” Margaret teased, knowing full well that it was quite the opposite. In fact, she could feel evidence that his physical desire for her was as strong as ever - it was digging into her thigh.

“Years of wanting you, you think that would vanish after only five months?” John whispered darkly into her ear. Margaret shuddered against him, the book falling unwanted onto the settee beneath them as she dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Bed, Margaret.”

She was powerless to protest the early hour of the evening anymore. In truth, she wanted him just as sorely as he needed her. Her fears of wantonness and judgement had faded each time they had come together; the tenderness they shared could not be wrong. John would never judge her. He took great joy in giving her pleasure and slowly, tentatively, Margaret had begun to explore his body in similar ways.

“Would you care to undress me yourself?” Margaret teased, knowing just how much he delighted in the slow, methodical removal of her clothes. “Or shall I see you in half an hour once I am ready for bed?”

“You’ll be lucky if I manage to even get your corset off.” He whispered in her ear. “All day I have thought of nothing else but you.”

This was a new side to John that she was discovering; as they grew more familiar with one another’s bodies and preferences, she had discovered just how much he delighted in talking to her. Dark, sinful words that brought a blush to her cheeks and a stab of pleasure between her legs. Margaret was not sure what she should say in return; a rare occasion indeed, to find herself lost for words.

He at least allowed her to go upstairs ahead of him, rather than attracting the servant’s giggles by retiring to bed at the same time. Margaret found Dixon in her dressing room, and told her she would not be needed tonight. She said this with a fierce blush on her cheeks; Dixon had become accustomed to not being needed, and Margaret did not appreciate the small, knowing smile on her servant’s face. It made her burn with embarrassment; perhaps, she thought, she was not so immune from shame after all.

When Margaret returned to their bedroom, John was waiting for her. In truth, he was standing by the door ready to pounce. She shrieked with surprise as he kicked the door closed and lifted her as though she weighed nothing at all. He pushed back the heavy material of her skirts, giving her the freedom of movement needed to wrap her legs tightly around his waist. This was a well practised dance between the pair of them, Margaret thought. He pushed her against the wall, his mouth against hers.

His hands were buried in her hair, his body holding her up as she desperately tried to keep her composure. He had a way of undoing her, of commanding her in a strangely gentle way that she could not resist. Each time seemed to only get better as the awkwardness that had once settled between them melted away. It would be quite easy to become addicted to the pleasure he brought her; there were days she did not want to be apart from him. 

John stepped back, helping her down. His fingers met the buttons of her blouse, undoing them quickly as he bent to kiss her neck. His kisses felt wonderful there, his breath tickling her skin as he inhaled and exhaled rather more quickly than usual. The blouse undone, he pushed it off her and turned her around. This was where he had become less delicate in his ministrations; his hands tugged at the strings, desperate to see his wife bare. Margaret pulled at the fastenings of her skirt and pushed it down, taking the endless layers of petticoats away with it. The corset Margaret wore every day was not as tight or as complicated as her formal one, and John pulled it away from her quickly.

He stood behind her, his hands tracing the bare skin that now faced him. Margaret turned to kiss him, her hands slipping beneath the opening of his shirt and spreading her palms flat against his chest. She could feel his heart racing, as it always did when they touched like this. For all of his controlled, tightly wound demeanour in the outside world, Margaret could turn him to dust with the slightest touch.

He gripped her wrist, removing it from his shirt and pushing her backwards with a firm shove. Margaret’s back hit the wall, but before she could protest he was kneeling between her legs with an urgency that was quite indecent indeed as he attacked her with his tongue. She could do nothing but close her eyes as her fingers threaded through his hair, desperate to keep him there. A few months ago, the idea of standing like this with her husband crouching between her legs would have utterly shocked her. Now, it just made her dizzy.

“Bed.” Margaret said breathlessly as he continued to mercilessly lap at her. She needed to lie down, her head swam as her blood coarsed through her body. She could not find the strength in her legs to stay upright for much longer.

“No.” John drew back just long enough to refuse her before returning to what he was doing with even more vigour than before. Margaret gritted her teeth as she tried not to cry out.

“John.” She said, hoping she sounded firm rather than begging. She tugged at the dark strands between her fingers, forcing him to rise. “Bed.”

He groaned as he pulled away from her, tugging her hand and pulling them both to the bed as quickly as he could manage. He wasted no time before resuming what he had been doing. A month ago, this had seemed an outrageous thing to do; now, it was John’s favourite thing that they did in their bedroom - Margaret rather liked it too.

Her toes curled into the sheets, cool cotton meeting her flushed skin, as he crooked a finger inside her. His sharp memory had a greater purpose here; he remembered every spot on her body that he touched, and just the reaction it garnered. He was almost cruel in his methodical touching; every brush of skin absolutely deliberate as he worked out what drove his wife the most insane. 

“John!” Margaret protested. “I can’t-”

She clasped a hand over her mouth as she came apart in his, his tongue not stopping until she felt as though she might melt into a puddle. He gave a satisfied hum, and Margaret looked down the bed at him. He was grinning; no, not a grin. It was a smirk.

He rose from his place between her legs, lying against her and kissing her. She gasped; he did not normally kiss her, and the taste on his lips was too much. He shrank back at her sudden stiffness, apologising profusely. 

“I thought we were to have no apologies here, husband.” Margaret said. “I am not offended; merely I am unused to it.”

She kissed his neck, and took his earlobe in her mouth. His ears were particularly sensitive, she had learned. The simplest kiss to them could make him gasp, a small bite soliciting a more satisfactory moan. Just as he had learned her body, she was learning his. 

Her hands found their way to the waistband of his trousers, and she tugged firmly. He was lying on top of her, and rolled off her and stood up. He quickly undressed, showing the same urgency that he had given to Margaret’s corset.

In the shadowy light of the fireplace, for John had extinguished the lamps before she had come to bed, she could see his manhood. The months that had passed, she still did not have the courage to touch him as boldly as he touched her. She swallowed; she was no wallflower, no silent willing wife. She wanted to touch her husband, and damn it she would.  


She sat up, and moved towards him on all fours. The look on his face, though she could see only eyes and shadow features in the firelight, was one of disbelief as she pressed a kiss to the very top of him.

“Christ!” His hand clenched into a fist by his side. “Margaret, what are you doing?”

“I am touching you as you touched me, husband.” She looked up at him. “Would you like me to stop?”

John stood there, towering above her as he always did, naked before her. He shook his head hesitantly, leaning down to brush a strand of hair from her face.

“Are you certain? You do not ha-”

Margaret took him into her mouth, and whatever he was going to say next was utterly lost as he tensed against her. He grunted as her mouth enveloped him, that gutteral sound driving her quite wild with desire. Margaret did not really know what to do, and experimentally bobbed her head up and down a little. Curiously, she swirled her tongue around the head of him before taking more of him into her mouth. He sprang back, and Margaret looked up in surprise. She felt embarrassment in every inch of her body; how could she ever hope to replicate the feelings he had given her?

“I can’t.” He gasped, hand against the wall to steady himself. “Christ Maggie, I can’t stand it.”

Margaret felt her chest burn; perhaps that shame she had felt hadn't truly gone away at all. She felt mortified at what she had just done.

“I am sorry! I just thought-”

John moved from the wall, kneeling on the floor so he found himself face to face with her as she lay flat on her belly on the bed. He kissed her forehead, pulling her head to rest against his chest. His heartbeat raced in her ear, his voice rumbling through his chest as he spoke.

“No, no, darling. It was too damn good. That was all. I cannot last when you use your mouth on me, I cannot control myself.”

Mouths crashed together as he climbed onto the bed and pushed inside her, neither of them willing to wait a second longer. Margaret groaned as their hips met, a frantic speed that was impossible to endure. She felt that ball of pleasure curled inside her stomach, that thing she did not know the name of but was coming to know well indeed. Her hands clawed at his back just to anchor herself as she came apart breathlessly, throwing her head back against the mattress. He followed her shortly after, crying her name against her breasts as he almost sobbed with the release.

“See.” John panted. “I told you we needed an early night.”


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

November passed in the blink of an eye; little Louise was christened, and Fanny finally reentered social life. Margaret saw less of her; now Fanny was up and about, her sister-in-law wasn't the most desirable company. Margaret was not too concerned by this; she had enough to keep her busy, but also because there was only so much discussion of baby clothes and bonnets that one woman could endure.

November saw John busy with his work; he made several trips away from Milton, and Margaret missed him on the nights he was away from her. It was strange to wake in an empty bed, to not hear his footsteps early in the morning as he readied himself for the day. He was not gone for long, and his presence was even more welcome than it had been before once he returned.

December was to be a busy month; the run up to Christmas brought with it a whirl of parties and social engagements. Before marrying John, Margaret and her family had been invited to few of these gatherings. They had never been part of Milton's high society, and it was merely her father's friendship with John that had seen them invited to anything at all. Now, as Mrs Thornton, Margaret was privy to occasions that she would not have been as Miss Hale.

In truth, this was no good thing. The idea of endless parties bored her, and meant that several new dresses had to be ordered. Hannah had told her as much.

"John's one of the most important men in Milton." His mother had told her (not for the first time, of course.) "You've a duty to perform, my girl."

"What duty is that?" Margaret asked. "I am his wife, not a clothes horse. It seems a needless expense."

"Margaret, he has a reputation to uphold. A reputation that was not helped by him striking another master in the face at a dinner party. You must hold your tongue, look beautiful and make sure he behaves himself." Hannah told her. "I never thought I'd see the day I'd have to say such a thing, but I fear he has taken leave of his senses."

Margaret had to hold her tongue at that moment. Her mother-in-law was gradually growing used to Margaret's presence in the house, and had returned to the usual frankness Margaret had known well. There were times it made Margaret quite mad with fury to be spoken to in such a way, but she did not wish to cause John distress by initiating any sort of argument. His mother was incredibly important to him, and Margaret had a great admiration for the respect and care he showed her. Sometimes, just sometimes, her mother-in-law made her want to scream.

"I will." Margaret said simply. "He is no ruffian, Hannah. He has been to plenty of social engagements without me by his side, I am sure he will manage."

"You are a Thornton now. You have a free tongue and high spirits, and there is a part of me that admires it, I cannot deny that. However, you are a married woman now and with that comes responsibility to behave as such. You must keep your thoughts to yourself."

"How little you think of me, Hannah." Margaret said lightly, concentrating on her embroidery. "Do you think I am so wild?"

"I do not know." Hannah replied. "I do not know what to make of you."

If Margaret did not know better, she would have thought she saw the flicker of a smile on Mrs Thornton's face. Perhaps she was rather fond of her after all.

The first event in December was one Margaret had not truly been looking forward to. A celebratory dinner for Henry Lennox's engagement, hosted at the Latimer's home. Henry had spent little time in Milton, and Margaret was curious to see if this new relationship had changed him in any way. She doubted a man like Henry could change at all, so stuck in his ways and ideas.

"Must we go?" John asked as he dressed for dinner. "I don't know why we must spend the evening with Henry Lennox, especially when you look like that. It's cruel to ask me to resist you for a whole evening."

"Oh, hush." Margaret laughed, leaning towards the mirror that hung on the wall opposite their bed. She had chosen to wear the gold earrings that had been a wedding gift from her sister in law, and she placed them in her ears. "Though, I do like it when you are so smartly dressed. We have had little enough call for formal wear since our wedding."

"That dress looks very well on you. I never thought I would see you in red." John remarked as he tied his cravat.

This dress was rather different than anything else Margaret had ever owned. Fanny had dragged her along to the dressmaker as soon as she was up and about. The vast amount of money Fanny spent on clothes meant that the seamstress was only too happy to make things at a rather rapid speed to keep up with Mrs Watson's ever changing taste. So, Margaret had had a brand new satin dress in under three weeks thanks to the influence of her sister in law.

The dress had a wide, dome shaped skirt and a tight waist, short sleeves and a neckline that sat just below her shoulders. The material was a deep scarlet; in certain lights it almost looked black. Margaret could scarcely breathe; her corset was laced tighter than usual, the low shoulders of the gown showing more cleavage than she was comfortable with. John's comments, though not unwelcome, made her feel embarrassed at the elaborate style of the gown. It was a little more extravagant than anything she had ever worn - though, she could not deny that she felt rather special in such a dress. Such an occasion was bound to be a formal affair, and Margaret

"Is it too much?" Margaret asked with a worried glance down. "I thought so, but Fanny insisted-"

"I'm teasing, love. You look beautiful. Far too good to share."

"Your mother has instructed me to make sure you behave yourself." Margaret told him, tapping the end of his nose. "I shall start now."

"What does she imagine I will do?" John asked. "I'm hardly going to get in another fist fight."

"Hmm." Margaret said, glancing at her reflection as she fixed her hair. "Though, she told me that I must also hold my tongue. I am a Thornton now, and I must behave as such."

"Aye, you are a Thornton indeed. You are a terrible influence on me, wife."

"Oh, hush!" Margaret laughed. "I have never known a man with such a strong mind, I doubt I could change so much as a hair on your head."

"You do not see the change in me?" John murmured, leaning down to kiss her exposed shoulder. "You do not see that I rush home to be with you at the end of the day, that I smile more? That I am so much happier than I have ever been?"

Though John's days were still long and hectic, Margaret had noticed that he had begun to return home each day at a reasonable hour. It was pleasant indeed, to spend time with him and Hannah in quiet contentment, before retiring for the night. It reminded her of the many nights she spent with her own mother and father, and the comfort was most welcome as the nights got longer.

"I do see that." Margaret kissed his cheek. "I was only joking, my love. Though I have also heard you shouting in the mill at your men, so loudly that it echoed into the school room."

"I did not say I was perfect." John shrugged. "I am sorry Mother is feeling unwell this evening. It is not like her to miss a party."

Hannah had been in bed all day; unusual indeed for such a formidable woman. Margaret was half surprised any illness had been brave enough to try and fell Hannah Thornton at all.

"It is just a head cold, she says. It has been terribly cold lately, and I know her hands have been rather stiff with the damp." Margaret said. "I am sure she will be better soon. We do not have to go, if you don't want to leave her."

"Is there a chance you've been dreading this as much as I have, Margaret?" John asked, a flicker of amusement on his face.

"I am not dreading it." She said firmly. "I am happy for Henry and Anne, of course. It has just been such a long time since I have attended any kind of social event. I am sure I have quite forgotten what to do."

"I am sure it will all come back to you. You must have attended more than your fair share of these things. I'm lucky to have such a lady on my arm, don't think I don't know it."

"I think it is I that am lucky to have you. Why, your mother once told me how you were the finest man in Milton - I think you have a much higher standing than me. I shall look to you on how to behave." Margaret teased, kissing his cheek. "I suppose we had better leave, before we are terribly late."

"Good evening, Mr Thornton. Mrs Thornton." Henry shook John's hand, and Margaret nodded at him. "Thank you for joining us."

John excused himself to speak with someone, leaving Margaret and Henry alone. Margaret cleared her throat.

"Thank you for the invitation." Margaret said. "We must offer you our most sincere congratulations, of course. You must be very happy."

"Yes." Henry said; still a man of few words, Margaret thought. "It is a good match."

"And what of the wedding?" Margaret asked. "Shall it be in London or Milton?"

"Milton, I think." Henry told her. "As is traditional. Then Anne shall come to London."

Conversation with Henry had not grown easier; though she considered him to be a good friend, they had never had any kind of rapport. It had always been difficult to speak with him; Margaret wondered for a brief, fleeting moment just how differently her life would have been had she said yes to his clumsy proposal all those years ago. In truth, it did not bear thinking about.

"Splendid. Tell me, are your parents here?"

"No. We shall have another dinner to celebrate in London nearer the time. They did not wish to make such a long journey in this weather. It is very cold here."

Margaret turned her head and saw a couple that she did not recognize waiting behind her, presumably wishing to speak with Henry.

"Indeed it is." Margaret said. "I shall leave you to greet your guests."

Looking around the room, Margaret could see that the men and the women had drifted into separate corners. Her place, she knew, would be with the women, and Margaret braced herself for whatever vacuous conversation she would have to endure. She glanced at John, absorbed in conversation with Hamper, and took a deep breath.

There was no sign of the bride-to-be, no doubt busy greeting the guests as Henry had done. Margaret looked around for a woman she knew well enough to say hello to, but she felt unable to insert herself into their company. Thankfully, Fanny turned around and caught her eye, beckoning Margaret over. Watson was absorbed in conversation with someone else, and Fanny looked thrilled to be free of the no doubt dreary conversation.

"Margaret." Fanny cast a look over her dress, and Margaret felt even more self conscious than she had before. "That dress looks rather good on you. I knew that that shade of red would be your colour, though it does make you look a little pale."

"Thank you." Margaret said, ignoring the clumsy end to the compliment. "It is nice to see you out and about, you look very nice indeed."

Fanny's hands went to her waist; though it was cinched just as tightly as Margaret's, pregnancy had left Fanny thicker than she had previously been. Margaret thought she looked very well, but though she tried to hide it Fanny had been rather ashamed of her new fuller figure. To women like Fanny, their appearance was everything, and to gain weight was to appear matronly. At only twenty years old, Fanny was as far away from matronly as it was possible to get, but there was no dismissing the idea from her mind.

"I have not quite got my figure back." Fanny said, quietly so as not to be heard admitting her insecurities in public. "But this shall have to do."

"How is Louise? I am sorry I have not been to visit; I called last week but Jane said you were out."

"Oh, it is just so nice to be able to leave the house! It is so wonderful to not feel terrible all the time as I did for so many months. Louise is very well; she is smiling all the time now. Though of course, you got the first smile." Fanny added, her smile tight and insincere.

"I must come and see her this week, I have missed her." Margaret said with a smile.

It was true; she was very fond indeed of her niece. There was a wonderful joy that only being around a baby could bring; Margaret had seen it touch Hannah, who had softened considerably since her first grandchild's birth. She had seen it, too, touch John. How strange that one so tiny could bring such happiness to all around her.

"You must come for dinner. I know Mother is not feeling well, but hopefully she will be better soon. I sent her some things to improve her strength, I will call in on her tomorrow."

Margaret and Fanny were joined by another woman; Mrs Slickson. Margaret found herself standing a little straighter as she shook the older woman's hands. She studied the woman's face, wondering if she shared her husband's harsh critiques of Margaret's character.

"How lovely to see you, dears." Mrs Slickson smiled.

She was a different species indeed to her husband; she was a plump woman around the age of forty, with greying brown hair and kind eyes. She had a soft face, and Margaret felt at ease with her, though they had never really spoken with her before at any great length.

"Mrs Slickson." Margaret shook her hand. "How nice to see you again."

"And you, Mrs Thornton. Mrs Watson, you are looking very well indeed! How is your little one? I am sorry I have not called on you, I have been visiting my sister in Scotland for some time."

"She is perfect." Fanny said with a proud smile. "How are your boys?"

"Away at school." Mrs Slickson replied. "I do miss them so, but it is the best place for them."

The concept of sending one's children away to be educated had always made Margaret uncomfortable. Of course, she herself had been sent away at a young age to London. The memories of being so far away from her family still stayed with her, that burning feeling of abandonment one she had sworn she would never pass to her own children. Margaret had been lucky enough to be sent to live with family - she could not imagine spending her childhood in a school surrounded by uncaring strangers.

"I cannot imagine sending my children away." Margaret said without thinking, realising as the words left her lips she was being uncommonly rude. "I mean, I think I would just worry too much."

"There is nothing to worry about." Mrs Slickson replied, her smile faltering slightly. "They are in good hands, Mrs Thornton. Why, my husband went to the same school and he has turned out splendidly."

"Of course." Margaret said. "How old are your boys?"

"Eight, ten and twelve. Oh, how I would have liked a girl! It just was not to be." Mrs Slickson said with a tinkle of a laugh. "I do not see the elder Mrs Thornton. Is she not joining us tonight?"

"Mother is unwell." Fanny said. "She sends her apologies."

"Oh, what a shame! Do send her my love. Nothing serious I hope?"

"Just a head cold." Margaret said, looking around for John. "It really has been dreadfully damp of late."

"Oh, there's Anne! If you will excuse me!" Fanny left the two women.

Mrs Slickson chose this time to take Margaret's arm in hers, leaning closely to her. Margaret's heart hammered against her chest; surely she was not going to bring up the fight here! It was not the place to discuss such a thing, surely?

"Mrs Thornton, while we have a moment. I should like to apologise on behalf of my husband."

Margaret looked around, concerned that someone might hear. Though she did not care so much for the opinions of others, she did not wish to become the subject of more gossip.

"There is truly no need, Mrs Slickson."

"Mrs Thornton, I really must. I understand he was involved in an altercation with your husband."

"Mrs Slickson, really, it has all been resolved." Margaret pressed; there was no need to drag the unpleasant matter up here.

Mrs Slickson did not stop the conversation, instead holding a hand up and continuing to speak. Margaret knew she did not have a hope of brushing this under the carpet, and she would just have to listen to what she had to say.

"I heard of it from Mrs Hamper, and when I spoke to my husband I could see quite plainly that he let too much brandy loosen his tongue. He is a proud man, Mrs Thornton, and I am sure he will never mention the matter again for fear of denting his pride. But I must apologise to you, and ask that you do not think badly of us."

"Of course not." Margaret said, a little surprised at Mrs Slickson's candidness. All these years and Margaret still found herself growing used to this northern frankness. "John was trying to defend me, and while I admire that I do not approve of his methods. I hope you know that."

If Mrs Slickson knew - or did not know - just what her husband had said about Margaret, her face did not show it.

"Men." Mrs Slickson smiled. "They run this world yet they cannot solve disagreements without their fists. So, tell me dear, how is married life treating you?"

"Very well, thank you." Margaret replied.

It was the truth indeed; these past months had been the best of her life. Though they had been full of hard work, John had brought her more happiness than she had known to be possible. It almost made her blush to think of it - surely nobody here would imagine John Thornton, so serious and stern, to be the loving husband he truly was.

"You're glowing." Mrs Slickson said with an entirely unsubtle look towards Margaret's waist.

"Am I?" Margaret asked with a frown. "I expect it is just the light."

By the time dinner was called, Margaret was unsure how so many people would sit down to dinner. There must have been thirty people, perhaps more, in the drawing room. She had lost sight of John several times, but as they moved to the dining room for dinner he caught her arm and escorted her to the table.

"Are you behaving yourself?" She asked quietly, looking up at her husband. He seemed taller than ever, somehow. He nodded. "Good. I have been holding my tongue rather well, I think."

"I don't doubt it." John said. "I'll not be sat beside you at dinner, it's not the way. I shall have to steal glances at you just like I did before we were wed."

Margaret laughed, until she found her place at the vast dinner table that had been set out in the Latimer's rather spacious dining room. John sat opposite her, with Mrs Slickson to his left and a man Magaret did not know to his right. Margaret knew that if Mrs Slickson was beside John, then her husband was likely to have been seated beside-

"Good evening, Mrs Thornton."

"Mr Slickson." Margaret nodded as he sat beside her. "Good evening."

He could not quite meet her eyes, yet Margaret did not look away. She would not back down as though ashamed to meet his eye, nor would she be embarrassed about what this man had said about her. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and she would be the very model of grace.

Mercifully, Fanny had been seated beside her. Margaret did not feel quite so trapped; her sister-in-law, though occasionally careless with her words, was fast becoming Margaret's closest - perhaps only - friend. With Edith in Corfu and any other friends she may once have had far away in London, it was nice to have someone to speak to.

The dinner passed quickly; Fanny found the company on her other side very boring indeed so kept Margaret engaged in a seemingly endless discussion about Louise's sleep. Margaret did not mind it at all - it kept her mind distracted, and out of trouble. She observed her husband as Fanny began another monologue over dessert (this time about the new baby clothes she was sewing). He was making easy conversation with Mrs Slickson, who he had known for many years.

After dinner was finished, the men and women separated as was traditional. Margaret had barely seen Anne; too busy with her other, more important guests to speak to Margaret. She was surrounded by other women, Fanny included, all admiring the rather large engagement ring that rested on her finger.

Margaret sat in the corner, waiting impatiently for John to finish his brandy so they could go home. She did not care for the gossiping that inevitably occurred when so many women were together, and she would not have a part in it.

"When is the wedding, Anne?" Fanny asked in a squeal. "You have not given us a date yet."

"June the first. It is rather a long time to wait." Anne sighed. "Henry is so busy in London, and he is buying a new house so we must wait for that to be finished. Can you believe I shall be moving to London? Margaret, I would so love your advice."

Margaret looked up at the sound of her name; she had not been expecting Anne to address her. They had never been close friends; indeed, perhaps Anne even considered them to be rivals. Margaret did not wish to be seen as such, as she did not fight Anne for John's affection, nor had she stolen it from her.

"Of course." Margaret smiled. "However I can be of use. I am sure you will like it very well there, and I am certain you will take to social life. Henry is very well connected."

"Indeed. I have been there for a few days already, to meet his parents. With Papa, of course. It shall be very strange indeed to live there with no family close by. Though I managed in Switzerland, so I shall manage there."

"I am sure Henry and Mrs Lennox will introduce you to many people. There are some lovely girls in London, I am sure you shall be introduced to them all. My cousin Edith, when she returns from Corfu, shall be your sister-in-law. I do not know if you met her at my wedding, but I think you would get along very well."

"I am sure we will." Anne said with a smile. "Oh, I am having such trouble finding a gown I like well enough!"

Talk turned to fashion and the struggle of selecting a wedding dress from the countless designs on offer. Margaret was relieved when John knocked on the door a little while later. She rose immediately, wishing goodnight to the other women and practically launching herself out of the door in her rush to leave. Collecting their coats, they stepped out into the cold night air.

Margaret threw her head back and took a deep breath. The freezing December air was crisp, though smoke from the fireplaces of the surrounding houses tainted the breeze. Margaret smiled as they stepped into their carriage, though she would much rather have walked. The room had been too hot, too stifling, and the cool air on her skin was much welcomed. She had survived her first social event as a married woman, without embarrassment or scandal.

"I saw you talking to Mrs Slickson." John said, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. "What did she have to say? She's been away for a while."

"Yes, in Scotland. You will not believe this - she wanted to apologise to me for her husband's behaviour. Was he courteous to you?"

"Aye, though he avoided me and kept his damn mouth shut for most of the evening. Perhaps he is afraid of me, I do not know." John said, his voice carrying the smallest hint of amusement. "It seems the lot of them have stopped fleecing their workers out of wages, or so Watson told me. Maybe I managed to speak some bloody sense into their fat heads."

"John! You are not speaking kindly of your fellow masters." Margaret said, ignoring the fact his sentences had been littered with curse words.

"I have had three brandies, Margaret." He shrugged. "And quite enough of their idiocy for one evening. That Henry Lennox likes the sound of his own voice, doesn't he?"

"Were you polite to him? It would not do to be rude to him at his own engagement party, John."

"I was, aye. I didn't talk to him much, and he was in no hurry to talk to me."

"That is good enough for me." Margaret smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I am exhausted. This dress is far too tight, I am sure I shall never wear it again."

"What a waste that would be." John murmured, his hand finding hers. He drew lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. "This really is a remarkable dress. A pity to never see you in it again. Though, I think it would look even better on the bedroom floor."

"John!" Margaret gasped, utterly scandalised. She threw her head back and laughed. "I really cannot take you anywhere."


	30. Chapter Thirty

Christmas had always been Margaret’s favourite time of year. As a child, before she had left for London, it had been the most important religious celebration for her father. He had seen it as a time for extending goodwill to all men, and most of the month was taken up with preparations for charitable donations for the poor. Helstone did not have many; it was a small place, and while most people lived humble lives, there were no slums nor workhouses.

So most of the financial donations were sent further afield, and the focus turned to spending time with those who had nobody, taking them food and tokens of the season. The elderly, the widowed mothers who had more children than they knew what to do with, the sick and the dying. Margaret had always watched her father in silent awe during these visits; he knew precisely what to say to each person, exactly how to bring them comfort. It was a great skill.

She missed her parents bitterly; she could hear the words her father had spoken to her one Yuletide before they made their usual visits. Sometimes the whole family would go, but on this occasion Mother and Frederick had taken ill. Margaret was six years old, yet somehow the words her father had spoken had never left her. He had repeated them often, it was true, but she still remembered that day as clearly as if it had only been yesterday.

“It is important, dear Margaret, that you see lives that differ from our own. We are blessed with good fortune, a warm home and a loving family. There are others that are not so lucky, and we must take care of our fellow man. We must take care to do so all year round, but you will find that people are kindest around the birth of our Lord and Saviour. We must encourage this, and hope that a little of the Christmas spirit lasts throughout the year.”

Now, at the age of twenty one, Margaret was in the position to follow in her father’s footsteps. She was not a clergyman, and she knew the loathing many of the people in Milton had for charity. She did not want to hand out silver coins; she doubted the people of Princeton would take them, anyway. Parcels of food would be better, but there was a chance these too would be rejected.

Margaret was conscious, too, of the fact that she was no longer Miss Margaret. She was Mrs Thornton, married to their master. Where she had once listened to their problems, and indeed had tried, somewhat clumsily, to broker peace between the workers and the masters, she was no longer seen as their ally. Not that she had become an enemy; there was just a cautiousness towards her. She had seen evidence of this from both sides; the other masters did not trust her and nor did their workers.

Why, Mary and Nicholas and the Boucher children behaved no differently towards her, but she could not say the same for their friends and neighbours in Princeton. Though they were grateful that Margaret had committed so seriously to giving the children an education, they tended to scuttle away from her when they saw her coming now. Margaret felt rather alone sometimes. She wondered what Bessie would make of it all - she missed her friend greatly.

The previous Christmas had been a miserable affair; her mother dead, her father numb with grief and Dixon not far behind him. There had been no joy at all in that Christmas, and Margaret deeply regretted that it had been her father’s last Christmas on this Earth. Still, they were in a better place now, Mother and Father. Things would surely be happier this year.

* * *

 

_Dearest Margaret,_

_I am writing to you to send you our very best wishes for the festive season. The weather here is cooler than the summer, of course, but there is sunshine most days. How strange it is to be so warm at Christmas! I still remember how excited we were to find snow on the ground one Chritsmas morning. Cadiz is as far removed from Helstone as it is possible to be, yet I find I am finally growing content in my new home. It has taken some time, but I think I have finally come to terms with my fate. It is so much better than it could have been, and I suppose I must thank God for the mercy He has shown me._

_Maria and Dolores are doing splendidly well; Maria is the most jolly child, despite the many weeks of sickness at the start of her life. She is still small, delicate and dark haired like her mother. She smiles constantly, and likes to pull anything she can get her fists at, particularly her mother’s long hair! I have never laughed so much as I have these past two, three months - my daughter is the greatest source of joy I have ever known. Fatherhood has made a better man, I know it._

_I am working for Mr Barbour, Dolores’ father. The work is good, though my Spanish is much better spoken than written so I am having to study most evenings to make sure I do not make terrible mistakes (I accidentally asked for a donkey, rather than butter when I first moved here!) I must write to John in the new year - do not mention it to him yet, as I am not certain, but I have heard whispers of a business opportunity that might interest him - and dare I say it, have cause to bring you both to Cadiz!_

_I do hope you are both well and settled into life as husband and wife. Thank you both for your well wishes and kind words when Dolores and Maria were unwell, it meant so much to me to know that my beloved sister kept us all in her prayers_

_How is your schoolroom progressing, little one? I am sure it is going very well - you could not fail to exceed at anything you set your mind to!_

_Season’s greetings to you all, to John’s family and all in Milton!_

_Fred, Dolores and Maria._

Margaret set the letter aside and began composing her reply.

_Fred,_

_How wonderful to hear that everything is well! I have so worried about your wife and child, and to know that they are both back to good health brings joy to my heart. John too shall be so pleased to hear it. I am glad to hear that Maria is thriving; I try to picture her in my mind, yet I cannot. I hope one day I shall hold her in my arms and see her smile._

_John’s sister, Fanny, gave birth to a little girl in late September. She is called Louise, and is a fine baby indeed. Though of course I am glad to be an aunt twice over, I cannot help but feel sadness that I cannot see Maria grow._

_I do not keep secrets from John, but perhaps I shall just this once - what kind of business opportunity do you speak of? I do hope it is not any sort of speculation, as you would be sorely disappointed should you expect his participation. Write to him only when you know all the information he would require, down to the smallest detail; for John would not take part in anything he does not know inside and out._

_The schoolroom is going very well; the children arrive on time every day, and seem most eager to learn. Their reading and writing improves every day, and I am confident these new skills will help them and their families. My colleague, MIss Williams, has been a boon. She has taught me many things, and has become a good friend to me in the meantime._  
_It is very cold indeed in Milton; we have had snow most days, though the ground is too damp and dirty for it to stick. I am still teaching at the school, and the children are quite blue in the face by the time they arrive for lessons in the morning. There is quite the scuffle to get close to the small fire in the corner of the room, let me tell you! The children wear the same clothes summer and winter, and are wrapped up in paper pasted against their skin to keep them warm. It does not do much good, and is terrible for their skin. I wish to help them, but I am cautious of being seen as offering charity; it would only cause offence, I am sure of it._

_Married life suits me very well, I feel. Of course, much of that is down to my husband. I think we both know that I would not much suit being a meek and willing wife, Fred, and John allows me my own mind and my freedom without expecting anything in return. I am very content indeed in our marriage._

“What are you smiling at?” John asked, looking up from his own correspondence on the other side of the desk. “You look like a naughty child.”

They sat together in John’s study. It was rather peculiar, but they could scarcely stand to be apart from one another in the evenings. And so John had pushed his large, wide mahogany desk away from the wall into the middle of the room and fetched another chair to sit on the other side. They shared the same desk, quietly working away at whatever they had to do night after night, barely speaking yet just glad to be close to one another.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Margaret said, continuing to write. “I am merely telling Fred how well I think marriage suits me.”

“Aye, that’s for certain.” John returned to his own writing. “And me.”

_I would so like to come to Cadiz and see you. We would need to take care, of course. It would not do to become complacent; Henry’s words about the risk of extradition still haunt me. Is it really such a great risk? I know that you use a different name in Cadiz, and I can only hope that that is enough to keep you safe. We must not do anything that puts you in jeopardy, no matter how badly I long to see you. We came close last time; we may not be so lucky again._

_I find myself thinking of Mother and Father more and more these days. I suppose it is the time of year; a time for family, and I have none nearby. Edith is doing well in Corfu, and her second baby is due very soon indeed. Pray that she recovers well, as she did with Sholto. I wish we could all be together for Christmas, as we used to be. Do you remember the Christmas where you hid a piece of holly in Edith’s shoe? You were in trouble!_

_I send you all my love, dear brother. I shall try not to be too jealous of you all underneath that Spanish sun as I struggle to keep my hands warm enough to write and hope that the ink I am writing with does not freeze in its pot!_

_All my love,_

_Margaret_

“I was thinking.” Margaret said as she folded the letter and placed it in its envelope. “I wish to give the children at the school a gift each. For Christmas.”

“Why?” John asked. “They’re not your family.”

“I just thought it a nice thing to do. Do you not do anything for your workers to mark the occasion?”

“I give them the day off, fully paid.” John said, his eyes fixed on his work. “In’t that enough?”

Margaret smiled; his accent became stronger and his words more clipped when he concentrated. It was the same when he spoke to his workers; Margaret half wondered if he made an effort to sound a little more refined when he spoke to her in their day to day life. It was a silly notion; he had no need to do so. She loved the roughness in his voice; that he might hide it made her strangely sad.

“Of course. I was just wondering. When Father was alive, we used to give donations to the poor. Though, we did not do so when we moved here - I did not want to cause offence, when I had already managed to do so without trying.”

“Aye, best not. Folk don’t take kindly to charity, you know that Margaret. Leave them to celebrate in their own way, and we in ours.”

“I still wish to do something for the children. Surely that could not be so wrong?” Margaret asked, tapping her fingers against the desk as she thought.

“Do what you wish, Maggie.” John sighed, turning his page over and rubbing at his temples. “I don’t know what you could give the bairns that won’t be seen as pity. They don’t want the crumbs off our table.”

“Perhaps something useful. A new book each?” Margaret suggested; books were an expense many could not afford.

“Aye, whatever you think.” John replied, distracted by his work. “I’ve got to get on, love. I’ve a meeting in Manchester tomorrow. Stop your tapping, it’s driving me mad.”

His voice was not hard, rather soft and teasing. Margaret lifted her hand, knowing that she had been tapping a wild and rather irritating pattern against the wood and probably sending tremours straight through the desk.

“Of course, I forgot.”

“We found mice in the storeroom today.” John muttered. “They’ve chewed through the strings binding orders, but we managed to stop them before they got to the cotton.”

“Mice!” Margaret shuddered. “How awful. Well, husband, I think I shall go to bed and think on this. Goodnight, dear.” She stood up and walked to him. She kissed his cheek, running a hand through his hair fondly. He smiled, though his eyes did not move from the stack of papers in front of him.

“Night darling. I love you.” Not looking behind him, he held out a hand over his shoulder. Margaret took it, and he gently pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Sleep well. I’ll be gone early, I’ll try not to wake you.”

“Say goodbye to me, even if I am sleeping.” Margaret smiled.

Margaret readied herself for bed, wishing Dixon a good night. As she sat in bed, she reached for her knitting. She enjoyed keeping her hands and mind occupied each day, and was currently working on a bonnet for Louise. Knitting was not as beautiful as embroidery, but Margaret enjoyed it all the same. These past few years had seen a rise in the availability of wools and properly made needles. Margaret smiled; that would be her Christmas gift to the children. Something practical, a new skill that would not be looked on as mere charity.

* * *

 

“Emma, I have had an idea.” Margaret said as they sat eating lunch together the next day. They had remained in the classroom, occupied with cleaning the mess the children had left to leave. “I wish to give all the children a Christmas gift, but it must be useful. I thought - what if we taught them to knit? I would supply the wool, and the needles. I know the girls will have been taught how to darn and mend things, but not many have the money for wool or the time to teach them. The boys could do it too. We could teach them to knit scarves. Then perhaps they would be a little warmer each day, and they could make them for the rest of their family as well.”

“I suppose.” Emma shrugged. “It is a right enough idea, Margaret, but I don’t know how to knit myself. You’d be teachin’ me and all.”

“It is simple once you get the hang of it. I find it rather more relaxing than sewing, though my mother always thought embroidery the more ladylike hobby. It is decided then. I shall go and purchase the wool and needles.”

“You’ll need nigh on fifty sets. Surely that’ll cost a pretty penny.”

“It will be fine.” Margaret said. “I have some money set aside. Do you think it a good idea, really, Emma?”

“Aye, but I’m not sure how good t’ results’ll be. You might find yourself with fifty yards of knotted wool rather than a fine set o’ scarves.” Emma said with a laugh. “Will you be able to find so many needles?”

“I can but try. It is a skill for them to learn, that shall be good enough. Do you think it a ridiculous idea?” Margaret asked.

Emma shook her head; Margaret was relieved at that. She was still wary of putting a foot wrong; all these years and she still felt like she would never be accepted sometimes. There was still something foreign about her - Margaret felt conscious that her voice was different, her manner was different, everything was different. Though she was married to a Northerner, she would never be one herself.

“I’ve heard of it being taught in orphanages, and a few of the church schools. I think it’ll be grand, as long as it in’t too cold for them to move their fingers. It’s freezing in here today.” Emma shuddered, pulling her woolen shawl closer to her.

Emma, the daughter of a foreman, was better off than most. Margaret knew they lived in a proper house and ate well. Emma’s clothes, though worn, were no different to Margaret’s. The wage Emma brought in from the school would help the family, certainly, but they did not rely on it as others did. Margaret wondered how long it would be until Miss Williams married, and would inevitably have to leave the work she loved so much.

“I know. It is particularly cold at the moment. I can scarcely feel my toes.” Margaret wiggled them inside her boots to make sure they were, indeed, numb with the draft that blew in under the schoolroom door.

“Is it so cold in London?” Emma asked; she was fascinated with tales of London and Margaret’s former life there. “I always pictured it in winter covered with snow.”

“It does snow, but not as often as it does here. It tends to settle though; the streets are white for much longer than they are here. It is not so quick to turn into grey sludge. It is not so damp, either. The dampness here gets into your bones, as does the winter chill. The summers in London are certainly a little more pleasant. Helstone, where I lived with my family, the summers there were idyllic. I would spend the days reading in fields, or climbing trees. Oh, it is very beautiful indeed there.”

“Not many fields round here.” Emma said. “I feel like I’ll die surrounded by smoke and dirt.”

“It is not so bad. We are lucky we have work in clean air.” Margaret said, though the moment she finished speaking she felt strangely disloyal to John, who tried as hard as he could to minimise the cotton fluff that hung around. “Though I am certain the sheds are much warmer than this room.”

“I am right glad not to do factory work, I won’t deny it. I have heard my father cough these past few years, Margaret. Surely Mr Thornton must have the same affliction.”

“A little.” Margaret admitted. “I have heard him cough, at night and when it is very damp. I wish there was something to be done. My friend, Bessie Higgins, she died of lung disease caused by conditions at another mill. It was a dreadful death. I am thankful that John has the wheel in all his sheds, and I pray that that might be enough to lessen the cotton on all the workers’ lungs. I know it is a problem that weighs heavily on him. What can be done? It is the nature of the beast.”

“Aye, it is. And while there is money to be made from cotton, there’ll be people willing to do the work. I’m sure all the children will be in the factory as soon as they turn nine. They’ll do well here, though. Your husband is a good man, I know that much.”

“He is. I am very proud of him.” Margaret admitted, feeling her cheeks flush hot. She shook her head, realising she was baring her soul in quite an unabashed manner. “I am sorry, I do not mean to speak so frankly.”

Emma shook her head, her kind face smiling broadly. Margaret could not help but be fond of her; she was indeed a very kind, patient woman. She could not have wished for a better colleague.

“We are friends, Margaret. I’ll keep your trust, as I hope you’ll keep mine an’ all. Not that I’ve much to tell, there’s nout interesting in my life. But friends we are.”

“Of course.” Margaret smiled. “It is just strange to have a friend here, that is all. I do not have many people to talk to, aside from John’s mother and sister. It can get a little lonely, sometimes.”

“Aye, I understand.” Emma said. “Since my mother died and my sister moved away to get married, it’s just me and my father. We’re happy enough, and I’d never want to leave him but - but it can be difficult with nobody to talk to. Hark at us, baring our souls!”

Margaret laughed; it was very easy to speak to Emma, just as it had been to speak to Bessie. Perhaps it was a good thing to have a friend.

* * *

 

Teaching fifty children to knit was rather more difficult than Margaret had anticipated. The boys scoffed at the thought of it, protesting loudly that knitting was for girls. She had shushed them, but the muttered complaints did not escape her ears. Then came the sword fighting; the long needles became the perfect weapons, boys standing up from their places and jousting in the aisles between the tables.

“Sit down!” Margaret said firmly, though they did not listen. She took a deep breath, wondering why on Earth she had believed this to be a good idea.

She glanced over at Emma; thankfully, after a quick lesson one evening, Miss Williams had taken to knitting rather quickly. She was in charge of a group of around twenty girls, all of whom wore faces of great concentration - chalk and cheese compared to the wild boys currently trying to gouge each other to death with knitting needles.

“Boys!” Margaret said again, her voice louder. Still, nothing.

“Hey!” Margaret almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of John’s voice behind her. “Sit down and stop mucking about.”

Though these boys had no master, the sound of Mr Thornton’s deep boom sent the fear of God through them. Margaret almost laughed at the terrified expressions on each of their faces as the knitting needles clattered to the floor and the boys hurried to their seats.

“Thank you, boys.” Margaret said to them. “I think that is enough knitting for one day. You may practice your letters on your slates. I want to see perfection.”

“Quite the rabble you’ve got there.” John said, casting his eye over the children. “I’m off out, I was just passing when I heard the noise. We’ll teach you to shout like a northerner one day, wife.”

“We shall see. Have a pleasant day, darling.” Margaret said under her breath; she did not feel comfortable showing her affection for her husband in front of others, yet she could not stop herself. “I shall see you this evening.”

As Christmas approached, Margaret looked proudly at each of the children. Though there were several missed stitches and some rather long scarves, each child had produced something. It was not much, Margaret thought, but they seemed to have enjoyed themselves and were a little warmer each day.

A Christmas gift for John was almost as difficult to decide upon; she did not know what he might want. She did not wish to buy him something he would not use. It would be a waste of money and a waste of time, and he approved of neither. For Hannah, she ordered some fine hair pins from a shop Aunt Shaw was fond of. For Fanny, a set of handkerchiefs. Louise, a wooden rattle. She had made Dixon a new shawl, knowing just how the damp affected her. Yet, for John, she did not know what she could give him.

Five days before Christmas, as the air chilled and the sky threatened to burst with snow, Margaret still did not know. She relented and asked her husband what he might wish for.

“I do not need anything.” He said as he kissed her collar bone. “I do not see the need for gifts, really.”

Margaret refused to be distracted by his kisses, shifting away from him and turning onto her side to face him. He frowned at her distance, placing a hand on her hip and trying to shift her closer to him. She shook her head, smiling broadly as he sulked.

“It is our first Christmas together. Surely, I must give you something. I would get you a new book yet you are so busy I would be surprised if you found the time to read it.”

“Aye, I prefer to spend my evenings occupied in something a little more physical nowadays.” He murmured into her ear. Margaret squealed as his cold hands pushed back the hem of her nightgown. She batted his hand away, straightening up. He sighed, knowing he would not get his wish until he had at least given her an idea. “I could perhaps use some new socks.”

“Socks?!” Margaret tutted. “Oh, John. That is most boring indeed.”

“I do not need anything.” John shrugged. “Except you. I shall always need you.”

“Perhaps I should wrap myself in a ribbon.” Margaret laughed. She kissed the very tip of his nose, running her hands through the thick dark strands of his hair. “I love you, darling.”

“That is gift enough, I swear it.” John smiled. “I blame Charles Dickens for all this. Christmas never used to be so grand, yet now it is all folk can talk about. Fanny is particularly obsessed.”

“Blame Mr Dickens, but Prince Albert must take his fair share of the blame. I am sure we are the only big house in Milton without a Christmas tree. Fanny’s is ridiculous, have you seen it?”

“No, but she told me of it when I saw her the other day.” John laughed. “Have you got a present for the baby? I should like to give her something, at least. I’ve got my mother her favourite sweets - she does not indulge much, but I like to be able to give her something.”

“Have you got me a gift?” Margaret asked curiously.

“Perhaps. You shall have to wait and see.” John said, kissing her forehead.

“See! It is hardly fair that you have gotten me something and I have nothing in return.”

* * *

 

The solution to Margaret’s problem of what to give John happened quite by chance, the day before Christmas. Though, in her panic of having nothing at all to give him, she had purchased a new shaving kit for him. His was old and worn, and he would not go to the expense of replacing it for himself.

She heard a commotion in the kitchen one morning as she came downstairs. She ran to see what the fuss was about, and found Dixon and the cook flapping a tea towel in the doorway to the pantry.

“What on Earth is going on?!” Margaret asked.

“A cat’s got in.” The cook grumbled, her greying hair falling out of her bun as she tried to shoo the cat away. “I won’t be havin’ cats in my kitchen, Mistress.”

“Oh how darling!” Margaret grinned. “Let me see. Stop fussing so, you two. You’ll frighten the poor thing.”

Margaret walked to the pantry. A black cat lay curled, sleeping quite unbothered by the commotion around them, against a sack of potatoes. Margaret reached out a hand to stroke its glossy head; she was awarded with one open green eye and a small headbutt to her hand.

“Oh, what a beautiful creature! What is so wrong with having a cat in the house?” Margaret asked. “He’s beautiful.”

“It in’t a tom.” The cook grumbled.

Margaret wondered how she could possibly know that; then her question was answered. The cat stood up and stretched. Though the creature was skinny, its stomach bulged as its back arched.

“Oh!” Margaret said. “She is expecting! Now, I think we all remember a story of an expectant mother with nowhere to stay. We will not send this animal out into the snow at her time of need, do you understand? Do you have a box? I think the nook under the stairs would be most comfortable for this little lady.”

Margaret heard both women huff in unison; though Dixon claimed not to associate with the other servants in the house, she and Cook had come to an understanding and seemed to get along well with one another. At this moment, Margaret felt as though they were ganging up on her.

“What will the elder Mrs Thornton have to say about a birthing cat in the house, Mistress Margaret? Oh, you always were fond of animals. I’ll never forget the day when you were four and you tried to bring one of the chickens into the house to keep in your bedroom. A fine mess that was!”

“Mr Thornton has spoken of mice in the mill. I think I shall suggest we keep this beautiful creature and one or two of the kittens as mousers. What could be so wrong about that?” Margaret asked.

The cat walked lazily over to Margaret, rubbing her head along her outstretched arm. Margaret smiled; she was rather fond of this little trespasser already.

“Nothing, Mistress.” Both servants mumbled.

* * *

 

Margaret managed, somehow, to keep the fact she had hidden a heavily pregnant cat under the stairs a secret from both her husband and mother-in-law. Mrs Thornton was busy making social calls, and though Margaret accompanied her on many of them, she was out of the house for most of the day.

On Christmas morning, Margaret was awoken by Dixon shaking her shoulders. Margaret winced against the light of the lantern Dixon held.

“What?” Margaret sat up, confused why Dixon would be in their bedroom so early. “What is it?”

“Your Christmas present for the Master is arriving.” Dixon grumbled. “I can hear her cries from my bedroom. I’m not doing this alone, it was your idea Mistress and you can come and see.”

Dixon left the room, muttering under her breath about the ungodly hour and how the endless mewing of cats had filled the house.

“Oh!” Margaret jumped out of bed and ran out of the door, still in her nightgown.

John stirred in his sleep, muttering about the cold air. Margaret turned back to fix the sheets, and John opened his eyes.

“What on Earth are you doing? It’s too early.”

“John - would you care to come and see your Christmas gift?” Margaret asked.

“Gift? Are you mad, woman?”

“Come, come.” Margaret pulled him up, not caring that they were both in their nightwear.

John rubbed at his eyes, getting his dressing gown and tying it tightly around him when he realised Margaret was insistent on dragging him out of his bed without the time to get dressed.

She pulled him by the hand downstairs, stopping by the staircase. Dixon was nowhere to be seen, but Margaret could hear the cries of the cat. She opened the small door leading to the space beneath the stairs.

“Margaret.” John yawned. “Have you hidden a cat in my staircase?”

“Perhaps. She wandered into the kitchen yesterday, ready to give birth I think. I wanted to make her comfortable - I could hardly tell her there was no room at the inn!”

“And this is my Christmas present, a birthing cat under my stairs?”

Margaret bit her lip; perhaps this idea had been as mad as Dixon suggested!

“Oh, do you hate it? We do not have to keep them, I just thought - the mice in your storeroom! And it would be so nice to have a pet-”

“Margaret, I think it a fine idea. I had toyed with the idea of getting a cat in myself. I just - will you ever stop surprising me so?” John asked with a laugh. “What is the creature’s name?”

“I thought you could decide.”

“Well, I better get a look at her.” He sat cross legged by the stairs, the lamp Margaret held the only light as he peered in at the animal. “She’s black?”

“Yes. I do hope you do not buy into all that nonsense that black cats are unlucky.”

“No. Well, it is Christmas after all - why don’t we name her Mary?” John said with a small smile.

Perhaps he thought he was dreaming, Margaret wondered. This was certainly a strange start to Christmas morning. She had worried he might be angry; though, there was no telling what Mrs Thornton might think of the fact Margaret had inadvertantly turned the understairs cupboard into a feline birthing room.

“We are not calling her kitten Jesus, that would be most blasphemous!” Margaret cried.

“No, no. And we are not keeping all the kittens. Just one.” John said, reaching in and stroking the cat’s sooty head. “Thank you, Margaret. This is by far the most unexpected gift I have ever received.

* * *

 

By the close of the day, after attending church and eating a fine meal as a family, Margaret climbed into bed quite content. Mary the cat had given birth to six kittens in all, and Dixon had cared for the new mother tirelessly. If Margaret did not know better, she would say that Dixon had rather enjoyed being needed so much.

Six kittens, tiny and closed eyed, all of them the very image of their raven haired mother save for one; a bright ginger changeling, nestled against its mother’s pink stomach. Margaret knew that that was the one John wished to keep.

“What a day that was!” Margaret laughed as she climbed into bed. “Are you coming to bed?”

“Aye. I have something fo- I got you something.” John muttered, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out small, black box. He turned it in between his hands, his fingers almost trembling.

“You did not have to do that!” Margaret said. “You already gave me that fine new mirror, and those books. That is quite enough for me.”

“It is not a Christmas gift as such. It is something I should have given you a long time ago, before we were married. But I could not.”

He opened the box, and nestled inside was -

“An engagement ring!” Margaret said in surprise. “John, we are married already! You do not need to give me this.”

Margaret had truly scarcely noticed the fact that she did not have an engagement ring to wear alongside her wedding band. She had not wanted one at the time; John’s position was too precarious to waste money on jewellery that served no purpose. Her love for him did not require some token to show the world that she was spoken for - surely, the happiness on her face was evidence enough of that.

“I did not have the money to buy you one, nor the family heirlooms to pass you one down. I wanted to wait until we were comfortable enough to buy something beautiful. Then, I saw this when I went to Manchester two months ago, just that short trip I made.”

Margaret looked from her husband’s face and down to the ring. It really was lovely; a thick gold band with an oval cut emerald set in the middle. It was not particularly large, but the dark green gem caught the light in the most bewitching way. She brushed her finger tip over it, the stones smooth beneath her fingers.

“Emerald. It is my birthstone.” Margaret said. She did not pay much mind to things like that, but she remembered Edith telling her.

“Aye, I know. According to the jeweller, emerald represents - oh what was it? Besides a load of nonsense. Immortality - I do not see how a stone could provide such a thing. And success in love, that were the other one. I think, dare I say it, we have found such a thing without a ring’s help.” John said with a small chuckle. He kissed her forehead tenderly.

“It is beautiful.” Margaret said. She felt tears prick her eyes. “You did not have to, John. Surely the money could be put to better use. I know you need a new spinning jenny.”

“You have your wedding ring, Maggie. Let me give you something pretty to wear with it - you are surely the only woman who ever wished for mill machinery, rather than jewellery. Let this be something you may pass down to our daughters, when we have them.”

John took the ring from the box and she held her left hand before him. He slipped the ring on top of the wedding band (though Margaret would later switch them around for safe keeping, the plain band keeping its grander colleague from slipping off her finger) and kissed her knuckles.

“It is lovely.” Margaret sighed, moving her hand this way and that as the stone glinted in the light. “Thank you, John.”

Margaret had never been a woman who craved extravagance; her clothes had lasted her years, and she favoured well cut, classic styles over the latest fashion. But this ring, so ornate and yet somehow so simple, was undeniably exquisite.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

Margaret did not understand how seven creatures, so adorable in looks, could turn as house as sensible as the Thornton's into such utter chaos.

The kittens climbed the curtains, ignoring the protesting mewls of their mother as she sat at the bottom. They swung from the light fittings, they got their claws caught in the wallpaper. Margaret could not help but laugh each and every time she had to prise a tiny, angry ball of fur from the flock.

Hannah Thornton did not share Margaret's amusement. A fact that had been confirmed one Sunday morning, cold and frosty outside - though the cool temperature did nothing to quell Hannah's fiery temper. Margaret sat in the drawing room one Sunday around five weeks after the kittens' birth, idly reading with a kitten curled up in her lap. John was occupied, as ever, and Margaret had returned from a cold, rather long service at the church.

"You've turned this house into a menagerie, young lady." Mrs Thornton said with fury, walking into the drawing room holding a squirming black creature by the scruff of its neck. "A farce. I found this beast in my shoe."

Though Margaret could understand Hannah's anger - the elder Mrs Thornton was known for her skill at running an efficient household - she could not help but laugh. It did not help matters.

"They will be ready to leave soon, Hannah. We are only keeping Mary, and Ebeneezer." Margaret reassured her mother-in-law. John had named the ginger kitten for Ebeneezer Scrooge. Margaret thought it was rather witty. "We shall find homes for the others as soon as they are old enough to do without their mother's milk."

Margaret stood up, evicting the sleeping kitten from her lap, who stalked off with a disgruntled squeal. She walked to Hannah and took the kitten from her hands.

"Absurd names for animals." Hannah muttered. "This has gone beyond a joke now, Margaret. I have never had any great fondness for cats, but these past weeks have confirmed it."

Margaret looked at the little cat she had taken from Hannah, all black save for one white paw whom she had nicknamed Sock, and held it against her chest. Oh, she would miss the mischievous little demons when they were gone. There was something so comforting about having animals in the house, though her own mother had always steadfastly refused to get any kind of house pet. Margaret had had a rabbit for a while as a child, until a fox took it away one evening.

"Jane tells me Mary sleeps at the foot of your bed each night." Margaret said innocently, tickling the cat's ears and avoiding Hannah's glare. "It seems she is rather fond of you, even if the sentiment is not reciprocated."

Hannah scoffed, sitting down opposite Margaret and picking up her embroidery. Her fingers worked at the stitching rapidly, her mouth a tight line of irritation.

"I can assure you it is not. However, she is warm and does not turn cold in the middle of the night like a hot water bottle." Hannah said. "I want the rest of these beasts gone before February is out, do you understand me?"

"Of course." Margaret said. "You must admit, they are rather sweet."

"I'll admit no such thing." Hannah replied. "John never used to care for cats either. I've seen him practically on his belly trailing string after these creatures. Marriage has turned the pair of you soft."

She was teasing them, Margaret knew. It was nice to have grown comfortable with one another, and to finally see her mother-in-law's sense of humour. Hannah was not the cold woman Margaret had once known, or thought she had known; there was great love in her heart, and a twinkle in her eye.

The kittens had brought her great joy in what had been a difficult start to the year. John had been working non stop in the mill, and sickness had yet again crept in. His workers were falling like flies, taking to their beds with no pay - a sign of truly how sick they were. There had been no deaths yet, but John warned her that it was inevitable that the weakest would be seen off.

Nicholas and Mary (Margaret regretted naming the cat Mary, as she now had to specify whether she was speaking of Mary the cat or Mary the girl) had told her it was by no means the worst sickness they had seen, but folk were weakened by the cold weather and were finding it harder to recover. Many were trying to keep funds back from their wages to support the families who could not work, but times were not easy. Margaret sent baskets of foods to the houses that were worst hit - John had forbidden her from visiting Princeton until the danger had passed.

Margaret worried constantly that the sickness would reach the house; she woke multiple times each night just to feel her husband's forehead. Praise God, every night she found it cool beneath her hand. Though, as it turned out, his temperature was not to be her main concern. The cough that had always plagued him in sleep had grown much worse in cold weather. He woke one night coughing violently, so violently that he gasped for breath that would not come.

"John!" Margaret sat up in alarm, seeing his shadowed figure leaning forward as his terrible croaking filled the air. Her heart raced with panic, her hands trembling as she rubbed at his back. She did not know how to ease this. "John, I shall get you water, and your mother-"

Perhaps Hannah, so wise and practical, would know how to help her son. Margaret threw back the covers and went to get out of bed. He grabbed her arm, pulling her back down as he tried to slow his breathing.

"It is alright." He whispered. "This happens every - every winter. It is the fluff and the - the damp."

"I thought you might be spared this suffering." Margaret whispered as leant against his shoulder. It shook with the force of his coughing, and she did not know how to comfort him. "I thought perhaps - you do not spend so much time on the factory floor, you are in your office."

"It hangs in the air, there - there is no escaping it. I am not so bad as - as the workers, believe me." He coughed again, the stress of trying to speak clearly making it worse. "I am sorry, darling. I did not want to wake - wake you."

"What can I do?" Margaret asked, feeling her eyes grow watery and her throat tight. She held her hand to his forehead, finding it damp and beaded with sweat. "Let me ease this, please."

"Hot water." John wheezed. "Hot water in a bowl - eases it, a cloth over my - my head."

Margaret fumbled in the dark to light a lamp. She hurriedly arranged the pillows, leaning John forward on her shoulder as she did so. Her mother had spent much of the last months of her life propped up in bed, and Margaret had learned from Dixon the best way to support someone who struggled to breathe. He did not lie back, instead staying propped forward in her arms as she rubbed his back.

"I will get you the hot water-" Margaret began to lower him towards the pillows, but John held a hand up to stop her.

"I just need - a moment." He closed his eyes. He relented, lying back against the pillows Margaret had arranged for him. He was practically upright, and this position seemed to ease the congestion. Margaret watched with anxious eyes as the wheeze began to dissipate "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Margaret asked. "You cannot help it. Oh John. How cruel your industry is; it condemns you all, masters and workers alike."

"I try to lessen the fluff." John said sharply, rubbing his chest as he tried to gain control of his lungs. "I take no pleasure - in the amount of cotton that hangs in the air, and though the wheels - lessen it, the air is not fit for breathing in day after day - I know it, Margaret. It drives me mad that I cannot solve it."

His words were breathless and urgent, and Margaret could not argue with him. He shared his worker's suffering - after all, he had been in the cotton trade for a good many years before the wheel was installed. Years of breathing in fluff had taken their toll. Margaret recalled Bessie - her death had been slow and painful. It was as though she had faded away, growing weaker and weaker each day. Margaret could not bear to see John suffer the same terrible fate.

Margaret slept fitfully beside him, and woke when he dressed for work, the sound of his razor tapping against the basin as he shaved rousing her.

"Are you well?" Margaret sat up as soon as her eyes opened, startling him.

"Aye, I'm well. It is worse when I lie down; I can scarcely feel it now. I should have warned you, I'm sorry love. This has happened every winter since I started working in cotton, it passes when the warmer weather comes. I'll sleep with more pillows tonight, or in a different room so you can get some sleep."

Margaret would not have her husband suffer alone for her benefit. It had scared her; she had never seen John so vulnerable. He had looked wretched. She would stay with him, and speak calming words as if they would make any difference at all to his pain.

"I'll not sleep without you." Margaret said, stretching into his side of the bed and rolling over to reach out for him. "I will never be without you in our bed, John. Never."

He walked over to her and sat down on the bed. He was half dressed, only in trousers. His chest was bare, and Margaret pressed herself against his back. He gathered her hands in his and held them to his cheek. Almost seven months of marriage and still she could not stand to be parted from him each morning.

"But you cannot sleep if I disturb-" John began to protest.

"Never."

John looked at her. Margaret tried not to laugh as she realised his face was half covered in soap and whiskers where he had not yet shaved. The look in his eyes - the tenderness that was impossible to ignore - stopped her laughing. She had never felt so well cared for in her life, so - so treasured. She kissed the soapless side of his face. He sighed, pulling her close to him.

"You look tired, Maggie. I could not bear it if you sickened, you must sleep. Please, I can't disturb you night after night."

"I shall sleep beside my husband." Margaret reiterated. "Sickness and health. I would not forget our vows so soon after marriage, John."

"You are too good to me. Margaret, please do not mention to my mother about my chest. I should not like to worry her; it is bad enough there is no hiding it from you, but she must not know. She will worry."

"As you wish."

The winter dragged on for what felt like forever. February was slow, cold and miserable. Snow fell almost every day, and the constant flurries meant it stuck even to the damp and dirty ground. The winds were fierce, and the countryside surrounding Milton was overcome with snow, cutting off roads leading both north towards Scotland and south towards London. Wagon wheels iced up, as did train tracks. John struggled to get orders out and fell behind - and he fell into a terrible mood.

Margaret hated it. She hated the sound of his voice when he was angry, hated hearing his shouts and angry demands of his workers. She spent the month on edge (and freezing to her very marrow), comforted only by the fact he seemed to calm down as soon as he saw her. Even a fleeting glance as they walked past one another in the yard seemed to help, his mouth twitching upwards in the slightest ghost of a smile.

Production was already reduced as a result of the illness, still striking down workers many weeks after the first instance of sickness, and now orders could not be sent out at all thanks to the weather. John was out of his mind with stress, not coming to bed until past midnight. Margaret did not know what he could be doing. He barely ate, barely slept. His eyes looked hollow, his body too lythe. She felt worry for him grip her heart endlessly. There was no helping him; his worries could only be eased by his business recovering well, and Margaret was powerless to aid that.

"I am sorry to be a tyrant." He muttered one evening as she stroked her hands through his hair to try and soothe him as they lay in bed. "I - I cannot fail again, Maggie. You depend on me now, your money lies in my hands and I cannot lose it."

"It is your money." Margaret leaned her forehead against his. "Your money. You will not lose it. They say the weather is terrible all over the country; ships cannot dock in port because of the waves, railways have seized up and down England. It will not just be you who cannot deliver your goods."

"Aye, but I am rebuilding a fragile enough reputation as it is. This'll set us back weeks, maybe months - God knows when the weather will break, every day lost just sets us further back. Orders are piling up as it is. Though, I think Mary and her kittens are doing the trick as I've not been bothered by a single mouse. Small mercies, chewed cloth is the last thing I need. Every order must be perfect, we've no room for mistakes."

Margaret occupied her time, as she always did, in the school room. Thankfully, by some small mercy from a higher power, the children in her care had made it through the sickness relatively unscathed. A few had taken to their beds for a day or two, sniffing heavily and running high fevers, but had returned once healthy. Margaret gave them bread for their families whenever she could, knowing how difficult times such as these were.

Margaret wished desperately for happier times; it felt as though she had not laughed for years. She was sad to say goodbye to the kittens at the end of the month. Emma had taken two, Sock and another Margaret had named Holly, to live with her and her father. Fanny had, to Margaret's considerable surprise, taken a shine to an all black cat who she named Percy. The last two kittens went to Mrs Slickson, who had a fondness for animals. And so, only Mary and Ebeneezer remained, roaming the mill grounds and getting under the feet of anyone in the yard. They had quickly learned to stay away from the mill machinery, staying mainly in the house or roaming the storerooms and out buildiings.

The snow finally thawed towards the end of the month, and John worked endless hours to get orders shipped. The sickness seemed to break too, and the last of the workers returned. Margaret heaved a heavy sigh of relief. She had felt terribly alone, and would be happy to have her husband in a happier frame of mind. He worked so hard, so tirelessly, that she worried he would cause himself harm.

Margaret felt a secret, hidden sadness for herself too in that miserable never ending winter. For the sixth and seventh month in a row, her course had arrived in perfect time. She had, naively, assumed that she would fall pregnant as soon as she was married. Yet her course had never even been so much as a day late.

The urge to be a mother had not struck her until she had married. Before then, though she had adored Sholto and been very fond indeed of the children in Princeton, she could not imagine herself as a mother. Mothers were sensible (well, Edith and Fanny had perhaps proved her wrong on that front), selfless creatures. Margaret was not sure that that was her. However, when she had married John she could not help but want a family of their own. A child with his dark hair, a northern accent quite unlike her own - she could not help but imagine such a thing.

Seven months was not such a terribly long time to wait, she supposed; she greatly enjoyed her marriage, and it would be no bad thing to be just the two of them for a little while longer. However, she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. All the women she knew - Edith, Fanny, Edith's friends back in London - had fallen pregnant within three months of marriage. Margaret had assumed it would be the same for her. It was not.

She had not voiced her concerns to John; it was a woman's burden, childbearing. He had not mentioned it either, save a few whispered reassurances whenever he caught her looking longingly at baby Louise. Margaret felt as though her desperation for a baby of her own would consume her sometimes. It had come from nowhere, really; though she knew she would have children one day, this need for them had hit her from nowhere,

As February turned into March, things were finally starting to look more promising. Margaret was right; John had not been the only manufacturer to suffer supply issues, and his customers were surprisingly patient. Margaret felt that these difficult months of this new year had taught her more about her husband. The first hazy days of marriage had gone by, and real life had taken over. Though these months had not been easy she knew one thing; she would stand by her husband through anything.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

Margaret was wrong. The first week of March saw driving rain and terrible storms. The damp crept down the chimneys, the grates too damp to light a fire without significant effort. Margaret felt the damp on her clothes, in her hair, on her skin. It chilled her blood, settled in her hair, and made her utterly miserable.

Another factor that only added to Margaret's misery was that John had grown increasingly distant from her. He looked drawn and exhausted, snapping at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. His chest was no better and the endless coughing meant he struggled to get any rest at all. Hannah suffered too; a hoarse, wet cough that echoed throughout the house. It filled Margaret with worry; she had heard her mother cough like that. Hannah would never admit sickness, save for that cold that saw her take to her bed a few months ago, and merely waved Margaret's concerns with tight lips.

"I'm fine." She said stiffly. "Do not flap, Margaret. I am fine. It is the winter air, it is always fine once spring arrives."

The dismissals of Margaret's fears did little to alleviate them. One cold March afternoon, Margaret felt concern coil in her throat as she swept the entrance to the school room. Doctor Donaldson tipped his hat to her as he walked past. She saw him crossing the yard and going into the house. She bit her tongue; worry swelled in her chest that her mother-in-law was sicker than she let on. Doctor Donaldson had been a regular and dreaded visitor to Margaret's mother, and the sight of his leather case was enough to give Margaret chills.

She was unable to leave the school room at that moment, and was engaged in a lesson when the doctor presumably left. So worry sat, heavy as a stone, in her mind until she saw John that evening. Though she had seen his mother, she did not dare enquire after Hannah's health. Margaret's polite questioning as to her welfare had happened once too often, and Hannah had lost all patience with it.

Margaret retired to bed before John had even returned home for the night. She had received a letter from Edith, and had been waiting for a private moment to read it. She settled into bed and eagerly tore into the envelope. How strange it was, Margaret thought with a smile, to see Mrs J Thornton written in Edith's familiar hand. Though it had been eight months since Magaret had acquired that title, it still felt strange to her.

The letter was dated the third of February. Post took a long time to travel, and Margaret was merely surprised it had arrived so quickly.

_Dear Margaret_

_I am writing to you to tell you I have another son! Ranulph Shaw Lennox was born on January the twentieth, after a rather easy labour. Mother hates his name - I think it is rather nice! It is a Scottish name, as is Sholto, and I thought they go together rather well. As we used Maxwell's name as Sholto's middle name, I decided my maiden name would do for Ranulph's._

_Though I cannot pretend I did not wish for a daughter just a little, I am overjoyed to have another beautiful boy. He is the most precious thing, Migs. He looks just like Sholto did as a newborn, though you did not see him. He barely cries, eats constantly and feels like heaven in my arms._

_The weather here is rather wonderful; though it is winter, most days it is warm enough to place the baby in his moses basket outside under an olive tree. Maxwell is busy in his new post, but Mama keeps me company and I have made friends with some other officers' wives who visit me often. Sholto is enjoying the new world he has to explore, and his nanny is very good at keeping him occupied._

_Oh, dear cousin, how beautiful it is here! I cannot do justice to my surroundings, but I find myself quite wonderfully at peace. Though Captain Lennox spends most of his days at the barracks, we have taken a private house near the sea. I love being so close to the water! It sparkles in the sunlight, as though it were an ocean made of sapphires. I am quite enchanted by it. I have taken Sholto to the shore many a time - he delights in splashing in the shallow part of the beach (though the sea is rather cold!) and watching the boats go by. I hope we remain here for some time, Margaret. Though I miss London society, it really is so wonderful watching my family grow somewhere so warm and beautiful._

_Mama will return to London next week for the season - I don't think she has taken to Corfu as strongly as I have! She is well travelled, of course, so I suppose all of this is rather boring to her. By the time you receive this letter, she will most likely be back. Oh, I wish you could join me! If you had not married, it would have been wonderful to have you here. But married you are!_

_I hope you and John are both well (and that the winter is not too cold - I am sure to have made you quite jealous indeed if it is!). Perhaps Sholto and Ranulph shall have a cousin to play with when we return to England..?_

_It is a good thing indeed that I am enjoying our time here, as Maxwell is to be stationed here for at least another year. I shall miss you, Migs, and am saddened that you will not see Ranulph until he is almost at the age Sholto is now. I wish I had paid more attention in our drawing classes, so that I might draw Ranulph and Sholto, to show you how they have changed. Alas, I did not so cannot - though I can do a rather fine drawing of an apple, I doubt that would be much use to anybody!_

_Please do tell me all that you have been up to - I have missed your letters! The post does take so long to arrive here, we will practically be home by the time your reply to this arrives I am sure! I wish to hear every detail of your life - spare nothing!_

_All my love,_

_Edith_

Margaret smiled joyfully as she read the letter. Another boy for Edith. She tried to picture the family underneath the bright blue sky of the mediteranian. She was comforted by Edith's safe delivery, a weight lifting from her chest now that she knew her cousin and both of her sister-in-laws had risen from the childbed unharmed, with beautiful babies to show for their labours. Edith's unsubtle enquiries over any possible pregnancy of Margaret's, however, stung bitterly. Still, she did not mean any harm, Margaret knew.

She would reply tomorrow.

"Is your mother well?" Margaret asked John that evening when he came to bed an hour or two later. "I saw the doctor. I do not like to ask her; you know she has no patience for my inquiries after her health."

John's hands stilled as he unbuttoned his shirt. Margaret watched him with suspicious eyes as he stayed silent, then removed his shirt. He sat down on the bed, kicking his trousers off and pulling his nightshirt over his head. The silence did not help to ease Margaret's worries.

"The doctor wasn't here for her. It was for me." John admitted finally.

"For you?" Margaret asked with wide eyes. "John, you did not tell me you were unwell."

John climbed beneath the covers, lying back against the pillows (his side had a mountain of them, the amount needed to calm his nighttime coughing) and rubbing his forehead. Margaret did not take her eyes of him, sweeping over every inch of him to ensure he was well. Her hand flew to his forehead, finding the skin warm and clammy beneath her hand. Her breath hitched.

"I did not want to worry you, Maggie. I am fine, it was just the damp. I spent too long on the factory floor and I was struggling to breathe-"

The words left him as though they were nothing. He spoke of his difficulty breathing as easily as what he had eaten for lunch that day. Margaret turned to him, taking his jaw in her hand. She kissed him softly so he would be silent.

"And you did not call for me!" Margaret cried when their lips had parted. "Oh John! You should have called for me, I would have-"

"You would have worried." John said, kissing her cheek. "You were teaching. I did not want to disturb you."

Margaret was dumbstruck. How could he think such a thing? There could be no disturbance where he was concerned; she had vowed to be by his side in all things, yet he did not wish to bother her?! Yet he settled in bed beside her as though everything were fine.

"Disturb me? John, my mother tried to keep her illness a secret from me. Do not do the same; I will not stand for it. If I had not seen Doctor Donaldson, would you have told me of his visit?" She demanded, her hands joining and picking at her nails. She had a heavy dread crushing down on her chest, scarcely able to breathe herself.

"I don't know." John admitted, drawing his knees up and resting his forehead against them. Margaret rubbed at his back. "I do not know. I can't stand you seeing me weak, love. I am meant to protect you, to provide for you-"

Margaret's fingertips danced against his arm, stroking his skin. These moments of self doubt came to him less these days, but Margaret could still see the ghosts of his past troubles from time to time. She kissed his cheek.

"And you do both splendidly. What did the doctor say?" Margaret asked. "Tell me truthfully, do not spare any details."

John reached for the book he kept on the bedside table, not looking at his wife as he told her of the doctor's assessment.

"Oh nothing, the tail end of pneumonia, perhaps." John tossed the words around as if they meant nothing.

"Pneumonia." Margaret repeated in a dull voice. "Pneumonia."

"I have had it before." John supplied. "When I was younger. The doctor thinks it is caused by the cotton fluff, it should clear up in a few-"

"You are taking to your bed." Margaret said firmly, cutting him off before he could dismiss the matter out of hand. "You are taking to your bed and you are not rising from it until you are well. Do you understand me?"

Pneumonia. A terrifying word that sent a shiver down her spine. Pneumonia killed people. Yet her husband lay against the pillows, his face perhaps only slightly more pallid than it usually was. How had she not seen that he was ill? She had allowed him to work, to spend his time on the mill floor - his lungs growing weaker each day. The coughing at night had been no better, but she eased his suffering with hot water as much as she could. She should have stopped him. She could not lose him. She would not survive it.

"No." John shook his head. "I am well. I am well!"

"Pneumonia!" Margaret repeated, her voice higher as she felt her throat grow tight. "How dare you say that you are well? Would you risk your health for the sake of your pride?!"

"It is not my pride!" John countered, his deep voice growing louder as he argued his case. "It is our livelihood! You command me to rest but I cannot Margaret! I must keep working, I cannot risk everything."

"And what livelihood shall I have as a widow?!" Margaret asked thickly. "How shall your mother and I survive if you die? How do you expect me to endure a lifetime without you after you have worked yourself to death, John?!"

John's face fell, as though her words had slapped him across his face. Margaret sagged, her shoulders falling forward as she exhaled a shaky breath. She rested her face on her knees, trying to calm herself. She felt his hand on her back, and she lifted her head to look at him.

"Margaret-" John looked broken. "Do not speak of it. I will not die, I will not leave you. God himself could not tear me from you."

The love in his eyes burned brightly as it ever had. Margaret felt she could weep in his arms, but she did not. She held strong.

"Then do not tempt him to! Take care of yourself as meticulously as you take care of me. Do you think I do not see the consideration you give me, that you always make sure my favourite fruit is nearby, the enquiries after my health when I am weary? Would you be content to know that I had meetings with doctors in secrecy, if I did not tell you that I was ill until asked?"

"No. No, you know that I would not. The thought of you sickening-" John stopped, unable to continue. "-but I am strong, Margaret. I am well, I swear it."

"Well?" Margaret almost laughed. "The doctor has diagnosed you with pneumonia. Does your mother know?"

"Yes." John said. "I did not wish to see the doctor, but Williams sent for him and brought me to the house round the back. It was damp and it was dusty, that was all. You know how my chest gets when it is damp like this."

"You are taking to your bed." Margaret said again. "I will stand guard by the door myself to make sure you stay there."

"I have meetings-" John said - firm, insistent.

Margaret cut him off, not willing to hear his excuses; she would not bow to him on this. She had never had cause to speak to him in such a tone, but she felt sick at this display of pig headed stubbornness. Anger rose in her.

"You have nothing!" She said, her voice shaking. "You have nothing more important than your health and your recovery! I will lay atop you until you submit to rest!"

"Perhaps that would not be so bad." John muttered. "Margaret-"

Margaret leant her head against his chest, careful not to put too much weight on him. She slipped her hand beneath his nightshirt, feeling the warm, alarmingly damp skin of his chest. She felt as though she could sob with fear. She had been so blind not to see his sickness. His skin was damp with the exertion of the day, and the rise and fall of his chest strained. He did not cough, but there was a faint wheeze that filled the room.

"Please. Please, John. To lose you, after all that I have lost. To go through life alone, a widow so soon after marriage-"

"Margaret." His voice was thick, pained. "Please. Please do not speak of it."

"I love you, John. I love you so fiercely that it hurts me more than you could know you would try to hide this from me. That you would have such little respect for me that you would treat me like a child when you are my husband, this is our life together! It is not just yours!" Margaret said, tears falling down her cheeks.

John had tears in his eyes too.

"I'm sorry." He rasped. "Christ, I'm sorry Maggie. Do not look at me like that - the sadness in your eyes, I can't bear it."

"Then erase the sadness. Rest, admit that you are unwell and allow me to nurse you until you are quite sick of the sight of me." Margaret tried to laugh. "A week, John. Just give yourself a week of rest. You are not well."

"I am tired." John relented. "Perhaps a few days-"

"A week."

"-a week's rest would do me some good."

* * *

Margaret did not sleep that night. She barely slept the following night, nor the night after that. When she did find a few moments of rest, her dreams were filled with the horrors of a life without John. Twisted, nightmarish images of his funeral, of sleeping forever in a bed without him. She woke up sobbing.

"Love." John whispered, easing her up and taking her in his arms. "Love, it is alright. I am here. I am well."

"I am sorry." Margaret shuddered, embarrassed to show such uncontained emotion to him. "I am sorry to wake you."

"I was awake, it is almost dawn." He whispered against her hair, keeping her close to him. "I am sorry that I am causing you pain. I am sorry I am weak."

"Illness is not weakness." Margaret muttered, brushing away damp tendrils of hair from her forehead. "I am just tired. My mind does not wish me to rest."

He kissed her lips, his mouth soft against hers. She sighed, her hands clinging to his. Their foreheads rested together as he murmured quiet, secret words of how much he loved her in her ear.

John did as he had been instructed; too fearful of upsetting Margaret further. The pain in her eyes stayed with him, and each time he thought about leaving their bed during the day, the image of her almost sobbing with fear of his death made him stay put. He had, however, insisted on having the paperwork that accumulated at the end of each day delivered to him. It kept his mind active and reassured him that his business was not falling apart in his forced absence.

It had been many years since he had been ill, and he had forgotten just how terrible it was possible for one to feel. He had lied to her. He had known he was sick. He had known it was not merely a tight chest aggravated by inclement weather. He felt exhausted, his body suddenly made of stone. His head felt wooly, thoughts not as clear as they usually were. At night, he found himself shaking and shivering, sometimes leaving the bedroom so Margaret would not see.

He was not the sort of man who lied to his wife. He hoped he would never lie to her again; lying was a coward's game. He spoke truthfully in all things, yet he had found it so terribly difficult to admit to his wife that he had taken ill. That he was not indestructible.

Margaret had forgiven him, it seemed. She saw him throughout the day, stealing away from her work to bring him lunch or simply check he was alright. He did not deserve her tender kindness. He slept for much of the day and night, his weary body grateful for the chance for a good night's sleep - so grateful, in fact, that it wanted to sleep constantly.

His mother watched over him like a hawk, instructing the cook to make hearty meals so he might regain his strength as quickly as possible. It worked, too; a few days rest made the world of difference to his condition.

Towards the end of the week, as well as the usual papers from the mill, he was brought a letter addressed to him with a Spanish postmark. Wondering what cause Margaret's brother would have to write to him personally, he opened the letter.

_Dear John,_

_Though I address you informally as my brother-in-law, I am in fact writing to present you with a business opportunity. I do believe this would be a good chance for us to work together, but I must admit I have an ulterior motive - to bring you and my beloved sister to Spain and finally meet you properly._

_My father-in-law, one Senor Barbour, has recently purchased a cotton farm outside Seville. He is looking for investors in the property, as well as potential customers to purchase the raw cotton. Obviously I do not know where your cotton comes from - perhaps Egypt, or the Americas. Perhaps you would not be interested in buying Spanish cotton, and perhaps it is a quite mad idea to own your own cotton fields. However, I am learning that business is about taking risks - and therefore I offer you this one._

The letter went on to detail the prctical elements of the investment; the size of the field, the yield it produced. It was not enormous, but a fair amount. The price, too, was fair. This was no speculation; this was something physical, an investment. John was not sure - but he knew that even expressing an interest in such an opportunity would be enough to take Margaret to Spain without raising any questions.

John thought on it until lunchtime, when Margaret arrived to see him. He could time her visits by the whistle outside, and he was pleased to see her each time. She sat next to him, kissing him firmly and feeling his forehead as she did constantly.

"You'll never guess who wrote to me."

"The Queen?" Margaret teased. "Or perhaps the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"Why would folk as grand as they want to write to a common Northern mill owner?" John replied with a smirk. "No, it was your brother."

"Oh?" Margaret asked, a knowing smile on her face.

"He told you already, didn't he?"

"No!" Margaret said. "No, he merely mentioned he might write to you to propose some sort of business venture. I know nothing beyond that."

"He wants me to buy into a cotton field."

"What?" Margaret asked ineloquently.

"His father in law has purchased a field outside of Seville and wants investors. I suppose I would have exclusive rights to the cotton produced but then I would lose my deals with my other suppliers or risk having more cotton than I know what to do with. If the crop failed, the risk I would take is enormous. I suppose I could invest and take half from there and continue getting the rest from my usual supplier. I would need to see the field, to meet with Fred's father in law if I am to invest."

"Do you think it is a wise investment?" Margaret asked. "I didn't know Fred knew anything about cotton at all."

"He doesn't, I could tell that much from his letter. It's an interesting thought, though. It would take some of the money you lent me-"

"It is yours now." Margaret reminded him.

"The money you lent me." He said firmly "Then I would own something tangible, it wouldn't be a speculation. Even if I didn't use the cotton myself, it is a long term investment. I would have to see it. I would need to meet with them all."

"Does that mean you will go to Spain?" Margaret asked, hope gleaming in her eyes as she struggled not to break into a wide smile.

" _We_ will go to Spain. You think I would leave you behind?" John teased, kissing her forehead. "We'll go after the quarter sessions. Do not tell a soul about your brother Margaret. If folk found out about him, found out that a magistrate was going to visit-"

"I know." Magaret said sharply. "I am no fool, John. We will merely say that we are going to the continent for business. Oh, how wonderful it shall be to meet the baby! I have a picture of her in my mind, dark hair and olive skin. Fred said she looks just like Dolores, which is a most unhelpful frame of reference as I have never met her either! Oh John, can we really go?"

"Aye, my love. It'll take a few months, mind, to set everything in place. Be patient a little while longer."

* * *

That night, Margaret wrote the long overdue reply to her cousin's letter.

_Edith,_

_Congratulations on the birth of your son. I am overjoyed to know that you are safely recovered and the baby thrives. How wonderful it sounds in Corfu! It is indeed very cold here; most days I do not leave the mill yard. It has been a hard winter, and I have felt more tested in these past few months than I have ever been - save, of course, for Mother and Father's passing and Frederick's conviction. Though the mill has recovered well, there was a nasty case of illness (we do not know for sure what it was, only that the workers were greatly affected and some even lost their lives) and also a terrible, freezing snow storm that saw the country on its knees for several weeks._

_John has been working constantly to try and minimize the impact these events have had on his business, and so I have barely seen him. He has also suffered with a persistent chest complaint, and is currently on bed rest. He has not been ill for a good many years, and is frankly a terrible patient. I would have it no other way._

_I can only pray that we will have a happy spring._

_I must tell you more pleasant things - for your benefit and mine, as recalling our terrible winter does nothing for my spirits._

_I am sure you have heard from your brother-in-law, but he is to be married to Miss Anne Latimer, the daughter of John's banker. We attended their engagement dinner in December. I missed you - I am sure you would have enjoyed the occasion greatly. Their wedding will be in June, and I will be sure to take note of every detail to tell you in a letter. It shall be a Milton society wedding, and I am sure the Latimers will put on a fine event._

_I am missing you dearly - I so wish I could see you all, and cradle this new baby who I'm sure will grow to be just as beautiful and funny as Sholto. I think Ranulph a fine name - I have certainly never met another! Perhaps if I were not married, I would have come with you. However, I would not trade my marriage for any amount of sunshine! I am most pleased with my life here in Milton, and my husband. I must say, there is no sign of a cousin for the boys as yet - hopefully it will not be too long until we are blessed with a child of our own._

_Oh Edith, I have the most exciting news - Fred has written to John with a business proposition that would take us both to Cadiz (strictly speaking, I would not be required to go but I do not think that wild horses could keep me away!) If it comes good, it will be so wonderful to see Fred and meet his wife Dolores and baby daughter. Our family is ever expanding! It saddens me to think that Sholto and Ranulph will not meet their cousin Maria - how lucky we were to grow up so closely._

_I feel I have settled into my life and responsibilities as Mrs Thornton quite well. There is another Mrs Thornton, of course - John's mother. She runs the household - I did not want to take this task away from her, and in all truthfulness she runs things with such an iron fist that I fear any attempt I make will cause this household to fall into chaos._

_I send you all my fondest wishes. I am sure I will see your mother when she is in London - though I am sure I will have to travel to London as I doubt she wishes to set foot in Milton ever again!_

_All my love,_

_Margaret_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I don't normally do authors notes here but I have a question for you. Is there anything you would like to see in this story that you feel is missing? I'm not sure if I should write more smut (I would only do it if it felt right anyway), or try and wrap the story up as quickly as possible? I didn't mean for it to get so long, here we are at over 100,000 words and I worry you'll all get bored. Please let me know! Thanks for reading everyone, you have no idea how much it means.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted smut so here’s some smut!

John recovered remarkably well. A few days rest did his body, work weary and exhausted from months of very little sleep, the world of good. His face no longer looked so waxy and pale, nor did he cough as much in his sleep. Margaret was so relieved she could have wept with it. He still woke early each day, his body too accustomed to its routine to change so quickly. Margaret wished he would sleep for longer, but she contented herself knowing that he was indeed staying in bed as he had been told to.

“I am sorry.” John murmured early one morning, pulling her close to him. “I am sorry I was too proud and too foolish to accept it. I am sorry I caused you pain.”

“I need you.” Margaret whispered back, tired fingers finding his face in the darkness. “I need you well, here with me.”

“I will always be here.” John reassured her. “I lied to you, and I’ll not do that again. I felt dreadful with the sickness. I still feel pretty damn wretched.”

That he still felt ill pained her; she knew he would insist on returning to work when the agreed rest period of a week was done with. And she would have to let him.

“Rest. The mill is doing splendidly without you. What is the point of employing so many men if you still try and do it all by yourself, John? Rest for just a few more days, do not rush back and over exert yourself. Your men will understand.”

“They’ll be having a good laugh at their weak master.” John muttered under his breath. “Laid flat in his bed from a cold.”

“Pneumonia.” Margaret reminded him pointedly, propping herself on her elbow and staring hard at her husband in the dim morning light. “It is not a cold. They will not laugh at you, John. Say you worked through your sickness and you died - none of them would have a job. I would certainly not be able to run the mill, and I think in my selfishness I could not bear to see another take your place. You must take care of yourself, not only for yourself, your mother and me but for the many that rely on you. It is a service to them.”

Once she had said her piece, she placed her head on his chest. His heart thrummed beneath her ear, strong and steady. He had not worn a nightshirt to bed the previous evening; he had been a little hot. That he would freely admit to having a fever had worried Margaret greatly, but this morning his skin was cool once more under her touch.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” John pressed a kiss to her hair. “When I lose my mind, you always know what to say.”

“It is the truth, darling. You are a wonderful master, just look at the contentment of your workers. You treat them fairly, you treat them with consideration. I am sure all they wish is for you to be well, and back at your post bossing them all around again.”

“Cheeky.” John smiled, closing his eyes. “Are you teaching today?”

“Of course. It is a Thursday. Arithmetic, history, geography and perhaps some knitting if the boys can be trusted not to think themselves the Three Musketeers of Milton.”

“You’ve a wild bunch on your hands there, Maggie.” John stretched his arms, yawning and turning to her. He pulled her to him, pressing her head to his chest. “Must you go yet?”

“It is past six already.” Margaret said. “I suppose I should start getting ready for the day soon. Dixon will be knocking at the door to help me dress, though I will go to my dressing room of course.”

Margaret had a small room nearby for the purpose of dressing and storing her clothes. It was a luxury she was not used to, yet the mill house had an abundance of rooms that allowed for such things. Dixon always knocked on the door to wake Margaret up, or to remind her to hurry with washing her face. Margaret was a deep sleeper, and Dixon had been waking her in such a way since she was a girl.

“I cannot tempt you to stay with your husband for a few moments?” John asked, his lips at her neck. His hot breath tickled her skin. Her hands clenched the sheets tightly - he was entirely unsubtle in his agenda.

“A few moments of what?” Margaret asked with a grin, already feeling his hands pulling at the material of her nightgown. “John! You are supposed to be recuperating.”

“I am confident this will aid my recovery.” His fingers crept up her neck, curling themselves in her long hair. He pressed hot, needy kisses to her neck as he shifted her so that she was lying atop him. “I will even let you do all the work, if that brings you comfort.”

“Oh really?” Margaret asked, trying not to laugh. “That is very kind of you. A true gentleman indeed.”

She kissed him then, so relieved that he was once again his rather incorrigible self. She loved the hidden playfulness he had within him, the tender way he touched her sending thrills through her. He was a most enthusiastic lover indeed.

He pulled the fabric up round her waist, their bare skin touching as he unashamedly rubbed himself between her legs. Margaret shuddered; she would surely never grow used to the sensation of him against her. She sat up, breaking their fierce, bruising kiss and pulling the nightgown over her head and throwing it to the floor. John grinned. He sat up too, his arms wrapped around her back as he drew her nipple into his mouth. She yelped, soliciting a throaty chuckle from the dark haired seducer at her breast.

His arms, strong even in sickness from years of labour, lifted her to her knees. She knelt in front of him, and was just about to ask what he was doing when his mouth was on her, his tongue hot as he kissed her between her legs. She bit her lip so as to not cry out, aware the house was waking up and any noise would attract most unwelcome attention.

“Mistress!” There was a sharp knock on the door and Margaret froze.

Dixon could not see her in such a scandalous position. She vaulted off the bed, leaving John breathless as he caught a foot to his ribs, and scooped her nightdress up from the floor. She put it over her head as quickly as she could, opening the door just a crack. She squinted her eyes, hoping she looked as though she had just woken up.

“Good morning, Dixon. I will be along to dress shortly. Perhaps ten minutes, I just need to - to wake up.” Margaret wracked her brain for excuses, and managed to come up with the weakest one. Surely, from her flame red cheeks and wild hair, Dixon had no doubts of why exactly her mistress needed more time. “! shall call for you when I am ready.”

If Dixon knew, her face did not betray it - she merely nodded, though she clicked her tongue and huffed at the excuse. Margaret was not known for being a morning person.

“Alright, Mistress. Don’t be falling back to sleep now, Miss Margaret. You’ll be late.”

Margaret had never been late to the school room, but it had come close. She was not as sharp to time as her husband; she found it hard to get out of bed in the morning, that much was true.

“No, no of course not. I just need a few more minutes.” Margaret stuttered, yawning and rubbing at her eyes.

Dixon walked away towards the stairs - probably to have a cup of tea in the kitchen now that her services were not needed. Margaret closed the door and pressed her weight against it once it was shut. She turned to her husband, who lay on the bed with a triumphant smirk on his face.

“Do not say anything.” Margaret warned him, making her way back to the bed. “I know I am a terrible liar.”

“Terrible.” John agreed from his place beneath the covers, propped up against his pillows. His hair stuck up at odd angles, his mouth a sinful pink from the force of their kisses. “The dramatic yawning was particularly masterful.”

“Be quiet, or perhaps I shall go and dress now after all.” Margaret said, turning towards the door.

His hand pulled her back. She allowed herself to be dragged to the edge of the bed, standing before him. He lay back expectantly, and she laughed.

“What a pity to put that wonderful act to waste, darling.” John smiled. “And you kicked me right in the chest as you left.”

“I’m sorry!” Margaret said. Her face dropped, and she felt awful to have injured him when he was already in pain. “Shall I kiss it better?”

“Endlessly.” He nodded. He eyed her nightgown, and Margaret looked down. It was inside out. “And take that off.”

“My goodness, you are the most demanding patient.” Margaret teased - but she did as he asked. “We don’t have long.”

“Then get back in bed and stop wasting time, love.” John held a hand out to her, pulling her on top of him and arranging her legs so she straddled him.

Margaret lowered onto him without hesitation, not understanding the desperation she felt to have him inside her even after all these months. It was some kind of sickness - she was sure of it. Whenever she had a moment to herself to think, her thoughts strayed to her husband. It was a shameful thing; she was quite consumed by her passion for him.

He groaned, biting his lip and screwing his eyes shut - he had not expected that so soon, she could tell. She loved when he was surprised; sometimes she felt like he knew so much more than her, though she knew he was just as virginal as she had been on their wedding night. He had taken to the physical side of their marriage like a duck to water, ensuring that she went quite mad with pleasure every time he touched her. Though it had taken some time to learn exactly what he liked, she finally felt as though she was matching him.

She watched him beneath her, her beautiful husband. She loved him with such ferocity that at times it felt as though it would burn her alive. She could not imagine a life without him now, and the tension she had felt during his illness melted away as she moved her hips. He linked their hands together, muttering under his breath as she moved up and down. Her toes curled already, the pleasure that coiled in her belly close to unravelling. John launched himself up, grabbing her waist and pushing her backwards, agile as a cat.

“John!” Margaret exhaled in surprise as his hips slammed into hers with a force that knocked her breath from her lungs. “John, you are not well-”

“I am well enough for this. You’re a damn temptress, I cannot-” He growled into her neck, brushing her hair away to kiss her there. His hand moved between her legs, pressing down on the spot she did not know the name for and making her cry out. “I need-”

Margaret cried out as she felt pleasure shoot through her, her hands digging into his shoulders as she clung on. Her back arched, her toes curled, and she quite lost her grip on her senses. John’s body went rigid above her, expletives falling from his lips as he lost the last shred of control.

He collapsed on her as he came, trying to hold his weight on his elbows so he did not crush her. He was breathless, almost choking as he tried to control the desperate, barking cough that wracked his body. Margaret looked up in alarm; how had she been so stupid?! He was ill, recovering from pneumonia, and she had put their own stupid lust before his health.

“John! John, I am sorry.” She wriggled free from him, turning him over and lying him back on his pillows. It was not easy - he was too weakened by his spate of coughing that he could not support his own weight. “Darling, I will get you water. Please, I am sorry.”

“I’m - I’m fine.” John held her still by holding her upper arm, the cough gradually fading away. After a few moments of silence, his breathing returned to normal and he spoke, a wide, cat like grin on his face. “I do not wish to die but if I had to - what a way to go.”

Margaret hit his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, I meant to say this when I first uploaded but the authors notes got deleted somehow. Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback you all gave me. It has helped so, so much. I’m not well at the moment and this was originally part of a longer chapter based around Margaret’s birthday. I’m just not feeling up to it at the moment but I didn’t want to make you guys wait too long so I hope you’ve enjoyed this. Please comment!
> 
> ETA: I forgot to say - I'm setting myself a challenge to improve my romance scenes and my writing in general. I'm thinking of starting a seperate story of M rated one shots, not from this story. I know there is a lack of smut in this fandom and I'd like to contribute more (lol like this is a moral duty..!). Is there anything that hasn't been done that you would really like to see?


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

"I saw daffodils today." Margaret said, busy darning a hole she had found in one of her shirts early that day. "Spring is here at last."

"Aye." John said, closing his eyes.

It was late April - the flowers were certainly late this year.

The heat of the fire and the weight of his wife pressed against him made him tired - it had been a long day. She lay against him on the settee; his mother was busy elsewhere in the house, and they took the opportunity to sit closely. It was not proper, even for a couple who were married, but John had missed sitting like that. He remembered before they were married; Margaret would often sit curled in his lap, reading a book. Those were among the happiest memories of his entire life.

"Are you feeling alright?" Margaret asked, raising a hand to take his temperature. "You've exhausted yourself."

"I'm quite alright, Maggie. It's been a busy few days - now the weather is not so terrible, people are looking forward to the summer. We've had some orders in from Spain."

"Spain?" Margaret asked. "Do they not mill cotton in Spain? I thought your orders mainly came from this country, perhaps Scotland and Wales as well."

Orders had occasionally come in from other countries, but John had never told Margaret much about the intricate workings of his business. He would, if she asked, but thoughts of cotton quite left his head whenever he saw her. Why speak of business when they could do things that required no words at all?

"Word has spread since the exhibition; Milton is gaining quite the reputation it seems."

"Perhaps you could use our trip to Cadiz to drum up more business." Margaret suggested, returning to her needlework.

"I don't speak Spanish." John pointed out. "The letter they sent me was so difficult to understand that I don't think they spoke English at all, merely got some halfwit to try and cobble something together."

"Fred could help you. He can move freely in Spain, it is not a problem if you wanted to take him on business with you to translate." Margaret said. "Then he could perhaps translate letters for you. It might be a slow process, but expansion is surely a good thing?"

"That's not a half bad idea." John said, kissing her forehead. "Why don't I just leave the running of the mill to you, you'd probably be better at it."

"Oh, hush. Oh! Do you know what else I saw today?"

"What?"

"One of the men from the bank, I think his name is Mr Parker? Something like that. He looks to be about your age, blonde hair? I saw him stepping out with Miss Williams at lunchtime."

"I didn't have you down as a gossiper, Maggie." John teased.

"It is not gossiping! Emma is my friend and I want her to be happy but - oh, how selfish of me to even think of it!" Margaret clapped her spare hand to her forehead, as though to slap the thought from her mind.

"You're worried she'll get married and no longer be able to teach."

"Yes! Not all men are as understanding of a woman's wish to have a job, a purpose. What if he chains her to their home, only wishing for her to have children and sweep floors?"

"Nearly all of the married women in Princeton work." John pointed out. "I'd have barely any adult women at all if they didn't."

"I know they do, but that is because the families could not survive without the wages that they bring in. A banker, even a junior one, would surely have more than enough to keep a family on. Emma is a fine teacher John, truly gifted. I would hate for her to have to leave."

"You're jumping to conclusions. I'm surprised you haven't broken the ceiling."

"I suppose I am." Margaret shrugged. "Have you seen Ebeneezer this evening? I've not seen him all day."

"The lazy beast spent the whole day asleep in my office. I don't know how he can stand the noise."

The truth was that John had grown very fond of the ginger cat. He was three months old, getting into mischief with his mother all over the mill. At least the animals had the good sense to stay off the factory floor when the mill was in operation, and the rodent problem had been eliminated most effectively indeed.

At that moment, the door to the drawing room was butted open - speak of the devil, they say, and he shall appear. The young cat sauntered over to them and leapt onto John's lap, immediately curling up and appearing to go to sleep.

"Oh, he adores you!" Margaret laughed gleefully, ticking the cat's ears and earning a one eyed glare from the kitten. "He is your shadow!"

"I suppose it is nice to have a cat around. Mother seems very taken with Mary still."

"We should never have named her Mary." Margaret said, not for the first time. "I never know which of the dozens of Mary's we know that you are talking about!"

"You agreed to it." John pointed out. "It is too late to change it now."

"We shall have to name our children rather more carefully." Margaret said, her mouth turning down a little at the mention of it, as though she had not meant to say that at all.

"Maggie -"

Margaret's fingers quickened on the fabric, the needle moving so quickly John was surprised she did not catch her skin with the point. Her lips were drawn tight in concentration, her brow furrowed. She clearly did not want to discuss whatever was bothering her.

"I was thinking, now the weather is turning I might start taking the school children out for walks." She said lightly. "Just up to the park, somewhere like that."

"Like a pack of dogs?" John asked. "You've missed a stitch."

"Must you watch me so closely?" Margaret asked, unpicking the mistake. "I swear, you see everything."

"You say that like it is a bad thing. I meant to tell you, I have written to your brother to tell him we will be in Spain in the second week of July. Does that suit you?"

The smile on her face was so broad that her eyes almost closed. He relished in her smiles, given to him so freely now. If he had told himself, almost two years ago, that one day Margaret Hale would be sitting curled against him - no longer Margaret Hale, but Margaret Thornton - he would never have believed it.

"Yes! Of course! And is that enough time to make arrangements for your absence?"

"Should be. Mother thinks we're mad to be leaving for so long, but I can't deny it's a good opportunity - I'll spend some time in France on the way back, kill two birds."

"Oh I simply cannot wait. It will be so wonderful to see him, to meet Maria. Dolores has been writing to me a little, to tell me of her health. Maria has three teeth now."

"I know it must be hard for you, to be so far away."

"It is not so difficult now I know things are well, but I should be glad to see that they are with my own two eyes."

"What do you want for your birthday next week?" John asked, changing the subject as he caught sight of her engagement ring. Emerald, the birthstone for May.

"Oh, I do not think I need anything. Your recovered good health is gift enough. I shall be twenty one, and things are so very different from my last birthday. Believe me, that is the hugest blessing I could wish for. I do not think I felt anything at all for the entire day; I merely stared into space."

On her twentieth birthday, Margaret had been in London - deep in mourning for the loss of her beloved father, taken back to her aunt's house to grieve. Things had indeed changed in a year, and it made John ache a little to remember a time when they were apart, when they were at odds with one another. To imagine her unhappy hurt him now (even though he had been the cause of her unhappiness more than once); this birthday would be different.

It was the second time they had celebrated a birthday in their marriage; John's own had been at the end of April. He did not much care for marking his own birthday, but Margaret's was another matter. He wanted to spoil her, to give her anything her heart desired. But her heart seemed to desire nothing but him.

He had been the same; he had not wanted anything at all for Christmas, then that mischievous, wonderful woman had somehow given him the most unexpected gift imaginable. A cat birthing under his stairs, the most absurd thing he had ever heard. Two cats he had not even known he had wanted - Margaret always surprised him. He feared he was too dull and unimaginative to do the same.

"I should like to give you something."

"Perhaps a new nightgown to replace the one you ruined the other night with your impatience." Magaret said in a low, teasing voice.

He had perhaps been a little eager a night or two previously.

"You've already mended it, I saw you do it yesterday. You do not need to do so much mending yourself, you know."

"I like it." Margaret shrugged. "It makes me feel useful. After mother died, I helped Dixon more and more. It soothes my mind too, gives it something to focus on."

"Are you worried about something now?"

"No, no. Indeed, I am very content. It is just nice to have something to keep one occupied. There, I think this is finished. I promised Fanny I would make Louise a new summer bonnet, I suppose I should get a start on it."

"Or we could go to bed."

"John, that is not the answer to everything in life." Margaret said as she gathered her mending up in her arms and stood. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "I can't. My - my course."

"Oh."

"Indeed. Excuse me, I need to go and get my material and get started while the light from the fire is still strong."

John closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Margaret's light footsteps going upstairs. The cat still curled on his lap butted his hand, reminding him that he had a job to do. John smiled, scratching the ears of the demanding ginger creature.

"That cat is entirely in charge of you." His mother's voice stirred him from his rest, and he opened his eyes. "Where's Margaret?"

"Gone to fetch something. Fanny wants her to make a bonnet for the baby."

His mother clicked her tongue; Fanny had a way of commanding others to do work for her. She had always been lazy with sewing, his mother had spent many a night grumbling over it. Fanny had always left a trail of half finished projects in her wake.

"I've never known a child with so many clothes. Margaret does have a talent for embroidery, that's true enough." His mother sat down in her chair close to the fire, reaching to the sewing box that sat there. "Have you finished work for the day already?"

"Aye."

"You looked tired, son."

"I'm fine, Mother. You and Margaret are a pair of hens, fussing over me. I'm well."

His mother tutted slightly, and he regretted calling the pair of them 'hens'. He knew they had been worried about him, and it was unfair to mock their interest in his health. He muttered an apology under his breath. He was not sure if his mother had even heard, as she carried the conversation to a new topic.

"I saw your sister today. Louise has started to lift herself up onto her hands and knees, Fanny was quite beside herself with excitement."

"It's been good for her, motherhood." John agreed. "Someone to focus on other than herself."

"Fanny gave away a perfectly good bassinet to that friend of hers, Mrs Willis." His mother said, threading her needle.

"And?" John asked, wondering why he should care about a thing like that.

"I thought she might at least offer it to Margaret."

John's hand froze, hovering above the cat's head. He had wondered when his mother would make mention of when John and Margaret would have a child of their own, but he had not expected it so soon.

"I think she'd be a bit big for it, Mother." John said.

"You know what I mean. Surely she will be expecting soon enough."

"It has not even been a year yet." John said.

"It won't be long." His mother said. "Margaret has told me herself she would like children soon."

John wondered just when Margaret had spoken to his mother about children. It pleased him that she might have someone to talk to, if she wished it. He was all too aware her own mother was gone, her aunt in London yet almost constantly travelling. There was no steady female influence in her life save Hannah Thornton. Though they had butted heads, John could see that things were almost pleasant between them now. It gave him great joy to know that the two most important people in his life could reach some kind of harmony together.

"Aye, but don't mention it to her eh?" John asked.

"Are you hiding something?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No, no, she's not expecting." John said. "I just think she's a bit sensitive about it all. She doesn't know anyone who wasn't with child in the first few months after their wedding."

"It's not unheard of, she mustn't get herself in a flap over it. I didn't think she would be so concerned, she is so busy with all of her good deeds."

John heard a hint of irritation in his mother's voice - he wondered what she really made of Margaret's school, and the effort she made with the people of Princeton. He tried not to get involved, but he knew that his wife often made trips there to see what people he needed. He suspected, too, that she was rather more charitable than he knew.

"She's got a good heart, you know that. She's trying to make a difference, that is all."

"Do you not think it undermines you?" His mother asked. "That the wife of a master hands out charity as if implying that her husband does not pay his workers enough? She's been vocal enough in her support of them."

"No." John said, his lips tight. "I'll not control her, Mother. She understands what I do, and I understand what she does. As long as she does not challenge me or the way I run the mill, I have no problem. I expect the same from you."

"I'll not cause trouble between the pair of you, John. But I'll not bite my tongue either."

"When have you ever bitten your tongue?" John asked, though humour crept into his voice. "I understand what you're saying, Mother. You're wrong."

"I hope so." His mother hummed, eyes cast to her needlework as Margaret reentered the room.

If his wife had heard the conversation, she made no sign of it. The three sat in silence until dinner was served.

The following week, the week of Margaret's birthday, was blessed with blazing sunshine. Though it was still cold, the clouds and the smoke that relentlessly hung in the air had cleared with a light breeze. The sky was a bright, cornflower blue. It was dazzling - as though the weather itself was celebrating the birthday of his beautiful wife.

Margaret was twenty one to his thirty. She was still so young really. Women had much more pressure on them to grow up quickly; it was unimaginable that a woman should have never married at the age he was when Margaret finally accepted his proposal. Men had it easy; women were like birds trapped in cages, handed from one owner to the next. Her father handed the key to her husband. Never allowed to be free. Margaret would be free. Margaret was a free bird - she knew her mind, made her own choices. Somehow, finally, she had chosen him. That meant more than anything.

He was worried about her. For all that she kept herself busy, she looked exhausted. He knew it could not be easy being married to him; though it was undeniable that he had felt his demeanour soften around her, he still had a temper. She had heard him shouting in the mill a good many times, and always reprimanded him when she saw fit. These last months had been difficult for both of them; John worried about the state of the mill so often that he was sure he had spoken to her wrongly without realising it. Then he had been ill, and she had taken care of him with such tenderness that it damn near broke his heart.

The fear in her eyes when he had told her he had pneumonia had stuck with him. He felt a fool for trying to hide it from her. Though he told himself he wished to protect her from any worry, he knew he had done it because he wished to continue working. When she had asked him how she would survive as a widow - oh, it had felt like a punch to the gut. He was too used to working through any discomfort, any sickness. His mother believed he never sickened - it was not true. He sickened like any other man, he merely hid it from her. He could hide nothing from Margaret.

John had bought her the usual trinkets for her birthday; some new lace, a new perfume as hers was almost empty, a book he thought she might enjoy. He had also taken the morning off; time was something he did not have to spare very often. He wanted to wake beside her without running off in the dark. Her surprised smile at waking to find him still there, still in bed and not dressing for the day, was enough to remind him that he loved Margaret Thornton to her very bones.

"Can you spare the time?" Margaret asked, stretching her arms and moving to lay her head on his chest. "I know you're very busy."

"For you." He nuzzled her hair with his chin. "Anything for you."

"I have to go to the schoolroom!" Margaret said, trying to sit up with a start. "It is almost eight! You should not have let me sleep so long."

John pressed lightly on her shoulder, making her drop down to her previous position. The bed was warm, her chin soft against the bare skin of his chest. She would not leave him.

"Miss Williams will keep the children occupied for the morning." He murmured into her hair. "I have already spoken to her."

"You've really thought of everything. What are we to do with this fine morning then? Just laze around in bed?"

"I've told the servants not to disturb us for a while." His hand crept lower. "I thought perhaps we could relive the glory days of our honeymoon."

Margaret laughed, the sweet sound echoing against his chest. She caught his hand and threaded her fingers through it, pressing his knuckles to her lips. They stayed like that, close and silent, until they both drifted back to sleep. John wanted to give her the world but, for now at least, he could give her his time.

Spring continued, bringing warm weather. It was a blessed relief after such a damp and cold winter. The mill continued to do well; Margaret's money had provided an invaluable safety net. John had never had so much money at one time, but he did not squander it. Each penny of it was carefully spent, and he had only needed around two thousand pounds of fifteen she had given him. The rest lay in the bank, ready to be used if needed. It gave him comfort to have it there - not just for the mill, but for the security of their family. He would have given it back to her if she had asked for it, but she had not.

It took a good deal of time to arrange the trip to Spain. Margaret had responsibilities of her own, but they were nothing compared to arranging the logistics of John's absence. It had been tricky enough to manage a week long honeymoon - the trip to Spain would likely take the best part of a month. Travel alone would take around five days - there was a ship that sailed from Dover to Cadiz itself. Fred did not live far from the port, but he would meet them in a square he had written intricate instructions on how to reach.

In order to be away for so long, John had to trust his men completely to run the business smoothly. He had men who worked for him, who managed the accounts and oversaw shipping. They would take on more responsibility, and Mrs Thornton would keep her ever watchful eye on them all.

Anne Latimer and Henry Lennox were married on the first of June. Margaret thought they made a fine couple indeed; she even saw Henry smile so widely she could have counted all of his teeth. Anne shone with happiness; any dislike or envy Margaret may have once held towards her was gone now. After all, they were practically family now. Still, Margaret did not tell Henry where they were going; they merely told Milton society that they were going on a business trip to Europe. Perhaps Henry guessed, but he had the good sense not to say anything.

John had travelled for business often, and had even been away for months before. Margaret had not known him then, but John seemed to know exactly what to do to enable the mill to run without him. He was by no means at ease with leaving, but he seemed to be excited about the business opportunity and the chance to meet Margaret's brother at last.

There was a possibility, too, that he would have to travel to France or perhaps even further afield. It was not easy to leave the mill, and John's reasoning was that it was better to do these things while already on the continent. Once the mill was being run by others, an extra couple of weeks would make little difference, but it would be harder to come back and leave again a few months later. He would leave Margaret in Spain and travel alone. Margaret was already dreading being without him for more than a day or two - though of course, she was grateful that she would be with her family.

"You keep out of trouble." Hannah had told the pair of them as they prepared to leave, lips drawn tight. "You are taking a risk travelling to see your brother, Margaret. Fanny has been sworn to secrecy that you even have a brother, but you must be careful. John, your reputation could not withstand it."

"I shall be. We will be quite safe; Margaret's brother uses a different name in Spain, and we will not tell anyone we are his family. Do not worry, Mother."

The journey would be a fairly straightforward one. While Margaret was not an experienced traveller, John was. They first travelled to Dover, staying the night at a small hotel. The date happened to fall on their first wedding anniversary. They celebrated a little, taking dinner together in the quiet restaurant of the hotel and exchanging tokens to mark the day. Margaret's anxieties over the trip rather overshadowed the joy of the day. Though John did his best to distract her, Margaret could not ignore the fear in her stomach. It felt as though an entire swarm of bees had consumed her body.

"Calm down love." John whispered as Margaret tossed and turned. "Try and sleep."

"I am too nervous." She whispered, her hands finding his in the darkness.

She brought his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. It must have been the middle of the night; it was summer now, and dawn broke early. The darkness outside was still absolute. There had been no rest for her at all, as she had lain in the darkness and listened to John's steady breathing. She had not meant to disturb him, but it was impossible to remain still.

"Sleep." John commanded, his voice thick with tiredness as he lazily stroked at her back. "It'll be alright, Maggie."

"What if your mother is right?" Margaret asked. "What if we are making a terrible mistake? I have already taken enough risks when it comes to Fred. The business with Leonards - the damage it could have done to your reputation, what you did for me.."

"Don't speak of it." John warned her. "Don't even say it out loud. We are not known in Spain, and as far as anyone knows I am doing business with Senor Barbour. I love you, but go to sleep."

Margaret squeezed his hand, shifting in the bed to lie with her head on his chest. Though he claimed to be calm, she could feel his heart hammering below her cheek. Perhaps he was just as fearful as she.

"It is beautiful here." Margaret breathed, holding onto her hat as she gazed up.

The white stone of the square shone in the sunlight. They were not too far from the port here, though the sea breeze did not carry past all of the buildings. It was quite stiflingly hot, the unforgivingly heavy fabric of their clothing making it rather uncomfortable to stand in such direct sunlight. John squeezed Margaret's hand tightly as she chewed her lip. He could feel her hand trembling, and he was sure his own was not much better.

"Aye, it's a sight cleaner than Milton. Though none of these folk'll understand a word of what we say. Thank God for your brother, or I'd have as much hope of doing a business deal with that dog over there."

"He said he would meet us here." Margaret looked around, her heart beating wildly in her chest. "Thank goodness we were not delayed. I have his address, though how we would ever find it I do not know!"

"It isn't so difficult to find." A warm voice came from behind them. "Hello, Margaret."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the little absence, I found this chapter really difficult to write for basically no reason at all. I've mainly been writing the latter half of this story, with 15,000 words in the bank so hopefully the wait for the rest of the story shouldn't be too bad. I have a play coming up so I might not be around much until Christmas. But I promise I'm squirreling away behind the scenes, thank you for your ongoing support and comments on this story. You've no idea how much they help my writing!
> 
> ETA: Many thanks to the reader who pointed out I had the birthstone for March wrong..so I shifted her birthday to May. I used a dodgy website to research because I'm sure it said Emerald was for March..don't trust the internet kids.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

"Oh Fred!" Margaret beamed, throwing her arms around him.

John cleared his throat. If they were at least trying to be discreet about this whole thing, perhaps his wife flinging her arms around another man in the street was not the best way to go about it.

At the sound of his interruption, the pair broke apart. John had never seen Margaret look so happy; her eyes shone with welling tears, her cheeks glowed as she smiled so widely he could see all of her teeth. She looked relieved, too. John knew how much this trip had meant to her - and who knew when she would see her brother again. John knew full well she would savour every moment of this time with Frederick.

"Oh, how silly of me. Fred-" Margaret turned to introduce John to her brother.

"You must be John." Fred stuck his hand out. "Frederick. Fred."

"I've heard a lot about you." John nodded, shaking his brother in law's hand. "It is good to meet you at long last."

"And I you. Come, let us walk. It is not far from here, and I see you have travelled light." Fred smiled.

They were indeed without luggage, having paid a porter to take the bags from the ship to the hotel that Frederick had arranged for them.

"We had our luggage sent from the port to our hotel." Margaret said. "I simply cannot wait to meet my niece! Is she well?"

"Thriving! She is the most beautiful thing, hair as dark as night and eyes bluer than the sea. She makes me laugh every day. Watch your earrings, sister. She likes to grab."

They walked through the streets. John walked behind them, observing his wife and her brother with a happy curiosity. He wondered how he had ever thought they were lovers; now he saw them up close, their mannerisms were so strikingly similar that they could only be siblings. They had the same nose, too. The same eyes.

They spoke so quickly that John gave up trying to listen to their conversation. Instead, he paid attention to this new world around him. The heat was almost unbearable, his clothes too thick and heavy to be comfortable in this climate. His head sweated beneath his hat. He felt unbearably - foreign.

Margaret, however, seemed to fit in perfectly. The light caught in her hair beneath her wide brimmed hat, the sun illuminated her skin as the light peeked through the tall, white buildings around them. She truly looked beautiful. She had wisely packed lighter dresses in brighter colours, and though he was not used to seeing her dressed so cheerily he thought it suited her very well indeed. Though her wedding dress had been made of cotton, it had been far too cold to wear the fabric everyday in Milton. Here, however, Margaret had made no secret of the fact she had packed several dresses made from Marlborough Mill's cotton. If John hoped to make new business contacts, his wife could not serve as a better advertisement of the product. More than that, it gave him a strange pride to see his wife wearing his cotton - as though he had claimed her from head to toe.

The heat was unforgiving; it was not even ten in the morning. The sunlight changed everything. Perhaps that is why Cadiz was so beautiful; the glorious light made everything look idyllic. The white stone shone so brightly it was as though this was a piece of heaven come to Earth.

Fred's house was not far from the center of the city, down a narrow street. The houses stood close together - both side by side, but the streets were so narrow that the tops of the houses almost touched. It was cool in the street as a result, but was rather like walking through a tunnel. John looked up as they walked - the architecture, though shaded and difficult to make out in parts, was new to him.

A woman Margaret assumed to be Dolores was watching at the window, and when she caught sight of her husband she ran to the door and flung it open so quickly that the wood slammed into the door behind it. She ran out, a wide smile on her face.

It would be impossible to mistake Dolores for an Englishwoman, for she was unlike any woman Margaret had ever known. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a thick black mass that curled down her back. Her skin was far darker than Margaret's, blessed by the sun. Her eyes were wide, sparkling brown and glimmering with joy.. She was younger than Margaret, and looked it. She had a glow about her face, an infectious sense of happiness that could not help but to make one smile.

"Margaret!" Her voice was rich, and bubbled with joy. "Oh, it is so wonderful to finally be meeting you! I have heard so much about you!"

Dolores embraced Margaret, throwing her arms around her neck. Margaret patted her back; she was not used to being greeted in such an enthusiastic way. Dolores stepped back, her hands coming to rest on Margaret's upper arms.

She was an exquisitely beautiful woman. She was around nineteen, Margaret knew, with a bright, happy smile that lit up her dark eyes. Her lips were full, patted with a little rouge. Her hair! Margaret could not stop staring. It cascaded down her back, curling around her face. She was not dressed to leave the house, and looked relaxed. After so long travelling, Margaret was sure she looked dowdy and exhausted compared to her radiant sister in law.

"And I have heard much about you. It is wonderful to be here." Margaret replied with a happy smile. "May I meet Maria?"

"Of course, of course! She has just woken, come, come."

Margaret eagerly followed her sister in law into the house, practically running up the stairs to keep up with her. She followed Dolores into a room, presumably the nursery, and found little Maria waiting for her, cradled by her nanny.

She was almost a year old now, and clearly did not want to be cradled. Her fists waved wildly, a delightful giggle filling the room as chubby legs kicked and wriggled to be free. The nanny scolded her gently in Spanish, though she sounded soft as butter, a wide smile on her face.

Dolores spoke to the elderly woman in rapid Spanish, holding her arms out for the child. The baby grinned, delighted to see her mother, chubby fists flailing as she was placed on Dolores' hip.

"This is Maria." Dolores said, looking down at her daughter with great pride. "Maria, this is your tia - ah, excuse me - aunt. Aunt Margaret."

"Hello, sweet thing." Margaret ran a hand down the babe's cheek. "Oh, she is simply divine. She looks so very much like you."

"Everyone says this." Dolores said, a triumphant smile spreading across her handsome features. "She has Fred's - ah, how you say? Fred's chin."

"May I hold her?" Margaret asked, looking at the squirming , curly headed cherub currently trying to break free of her mother's embrace. "If she consents, of course."

Dolores shifted the baby into Margaret's waiting arms, ignoring the squeaks of protest. Though the child reached for her mother, soon her attention was caught by Margaret's hooped earrings - just as Fred had warned.

"No, no little one. Not for you." Margaret gently prised them from her grabbing hands. "Oh, you are so special. What beautiful hair you have, and such sparkling eyes!"

"Si, so much hair! I wonder if the new baby will be the same, I hope this one will look a little more like Fred." Dolores smiled, pressing a kiss to the baby's cheek. "Ah, mi vida!"

"New baby?" Margaret asked, confused for a moment until she realised what Dolores had meant. "Oh!"

Dolores beamed, and Margaret tried desperately to push back any jealous thoughts that might have crossed her mind. Margaret reached out to clasp her sister-in-law's hand, sincerely congratulating her despite the pain in her throat.

"I am around three months. I am not so sick this time." Dolores spoke slowly, deliberately, and Margaret was reminded that English was not her mother tongue. She certainly spoke well.

"How wonderful." Margaret smiled. She tried to ignore the jealousy rising in her chest. "You must be very pleased."

"Yes, though it was not so easy when Maria was born. I was hoping our second time would not happen so soon, but the Lord must decide." Maria crossed herself, then ran a hand down Maria's chubby little legs, tickling the kicking feet as the baby girl trilled with amusement.

"Yes." Margaret said, staring at the giggling child in her arms. "The Lord must decide."

"Would you like children?" Dolores asked.

"Of course." Margaret replied, her throat growing tight as the words struggled to escape her. "More than anything, of course we would."

"I hope you do not have to wait too long. You are missing a great gift." Dolores said, with a fond look at her own daughter.

Margaret tried to smile. She could not. Her face felt as though it were made of stone, the muscles of her cheeks completely paralysed.

"I hope it will be very soon." Margaret said softly, her eyes fixed on the babe with dark hair. "Pray God."

"I must show you the house! I am most disappointed you are not staying here!" Dolores handed the child back to the elderly woman, looping her arm through Margaret's and practically dragging her through the nursery door.

"We thought it best to not look too familiar." Margaret explained. "In case - in case anyone should notice. We must do what is best for Fred's safety."

"I know, but I have always wanted a big sister!" Dolores exclaimed. "Come, I will show you our home and then we will go and take tea with my parents. They do not live far away, only a few houses down the street. My father gave us this house when we married."

"Lovely." Margaret smiled, though she was a little exhausted by the heat. "I look forward to meeting them. Tell me, do you have siblings?"

"Si, two - an older brother. He helps my father in the business, along with Fred. Then my youngest brother, he is only ten. Diego is the elder, and Manuel the youngest. My mother, she is very much looking forward to seeing you! We have never had Englishmen to tea! Except Fred of course, but he is - hah, how do I say it? One of us now."

Dolores was sweet - she seemed very young, Margaret thought. Excitable and wild. She could see exactly why Fred adored her so very much - it was impossible not to like her. Margaret felt already as though she had known her forever, and it had only been five minutes.

"You must meet my husband!" Margarert said suddenly, realising John and Fred had been abandoned in her haste to meet Maria. "Oh, my manners! He has brought me all this way and I leave him on the doorstep!"

"He is very handsome." Dolores said with a grin. "He looks - ah, how you say it? I do not know the word to describe. Angry?"

Margaret laughed at the unabashedly honest assessment of her husband. Though he did have a rather fearsome expression, Margaret knew he also had the warmest smile that made her heart leap.

"I think perhaps you mean stern. He does rather have one of those faces, I'm afraid. He is a good man."

"Of course, or you would not have married him. It is a love match, si?"

"Yes." Margaret said. "Yes, very much so."

"I am the same with Fred." Dolores smiled. "The very first time I saw him, I knew I would love him forever."

Margaret almost laughed - that was as far from the case for her and John as it was possible to be. In fact, if somebody had told her the very first time she had seen John that he was the man she would marry, she would have laughed in their face at the very thought of it.

"Dolores I must ask - does your family - do they know about Frederick's past?" Margaret asked, steering the subject away from the topic of love at first sight.

"My father does." Dolores said softly. "My father, he is a man who likes to know everything. Fred, he is an honest man and when he asked my father for my hand - he told him. I think he wanted to give me a chance to run. My father spent days thinking about it, and he told me what he knew - though Fred had already told me when he returned from England after the death of your mother. My father asked for the truth, and Fred gave it to him. My father, he knows how much I love your brother. He consented, and he will take Fred's secret to the grave."

"Your father must be a very good man." Margaret said, a lump in her throat. "I am so happy Frederick has a family here that is good and fair to him. I could not bear to think of him alone in this life when I know his only crime is doing what he thought was right."

"It is the past." Dolores said. "He has a future now."

The rest of the morning seemed to pass in a blur. Spain was a different world entirely; they took early tea with Dolores' parents. The Barbors were a kind couple; Senor Barbor was clearly a very wealthy man. He was large and loud, with a thick black moustache that sat stockily over a mouth that never seemed to stop smiling. He spoke perfect English in a loud, booming voice. His wife spoke no English but smiled pleasantly, her daughter quietly translating in her ear. She looked just like Dolores, dainty and dignified but mostly silent unless translated by her husband or daughter.

Dolores' younger brother was at school in Madrid, they were told, so they did not meet him, but her elder brother Manuel had stayed back to meet the visitors from England. He worked for the family company, as did Fred, and Margaret wondered how they were getting any work done at all if they were all here. She did not voice her curiosity.

Manuel was as talkative and energetic as his sister. He looked to be around twenty five, and was so handsome Margaret almost laughed. He was unmarried, Dolores had said. Margaret was sure if Fanny had seen him before she married, she would have fainted at his feet.

After tea, Margaret and John learned of the Spanish tradition of siesta - sleeping during the hottest part of the day. They went to their hotel, accompanied by Fred so that they would not get lost in the winding streets of a city they did not yet know. The bells chimed out for midday, and the streets were quiet.

"Everyone has a two hour break in the middle of the day. Most people sleep - though we are not the hottest place in Spain, the heat does take it out of you after a while. It is a tradition that spans hundreds of years, and one I rather like. I use it to read normally, but Maria has been causing rather a nuisance at night so we all use it to sleep now."

"How funny." Margaret said. "I cannot imagine everything stopping for two hours in England so that everyone might have a rest!"

Her brother laughed. Margaret looked at him; he seemed so very different to when she had last seen him. He was relaxed here, truly happy. She felt unease; if things had gone wrong when he had returned to England (even more than they had done), she would have taken him away from this life. She knew he would never step foot in England again, and for the first time she did not feel sadness. He was happy. That was enough.

"No. The Spanish take things rather easier than the English. I think I prefer the slower pace of life." Fred smiled. "So, what do you think of my wife?"

"I like her very much indeed. She is great fun." Margaret looked over to John, who was walking a way ahead with his head fixed up to take in the world around him. "Might I ask the same about my husband?"

"He's rather serious, isn't he?" Fred said thoughtfully. "Though I do detect a rather dark sense of humour there too. I think we shall get on just fine. He's got a head for business, I've been bombarded with thousands of questions. It seems you've had the idea to set me some translation work?"

"Only if you want to." Margaret said. "I wouldn't want it to get in the way, not if it means you would have to leave your family."

Frederick shook his head.

"No, it works well. Senor Barbor is travelling to London next month, he was going to take Dolores with him for a holiday. Why don't you travel back with them and John and I can do business?"

"I don't know if John could be away from Milton for that long. It would surely be weeks before he returned." Margaret said.

In truth, the thought of being without her husband set a great feeling of trepidation into her very bones. She would manage without him, of course she would. Just because she could, did not mean that she wanted to.

"He's already agreed, if you do. I have a great many contacts who would be interested in meeting him."

"I never thought you would be a businessman, Fred!" Margaret said. "I - I suppose it makes good sense, and he did say he would leave me to travel a little for business. I would just be sad to leave you."

"I would be honoured if you would show Dolores some of England for me. Take her to meet Aunt Shaw, take her to Milton. I know Senor Barbor is interested in investing in cotton further - he will talk to John about it later I am sure."

"If that is what you want, I will. Shall the baby come too?"

"Yes, Dolores won't be parted from that little monkey of ours. Would you and John like children?" Fred asked suddenly.

"Obviously." Margaret replied sharply. "Is it even a question?"

"I'm sorry, Margaret, I didn't mean anything by it." Fred said, his eyebrows raised at her reaction.

Margaret felt as though all everyone did these days was enquire after whether or not she would have a family. Hannah at been entirely unsubtle for the last two or three months in her desire for another grandchild. It was fine at first, but each fresh questioning was like a nick to her skin. She wanted a family, she wanted a child of her own.

"Of course. Is this our hotel?" Margaret nodded up to the building ahead of them. "I think we will remember the way back, but if you do not see us again-"

"I will come back to collect you about three. Rest, sister. You look tired."

"It was a long journey and it is safe to say this heat has rather gotten the best of me." Margaret smiled. "We will see you later."

She did not kiss him goodbye, not wanting to show such affection in public, but squeezed his hand and waved. John shook his hand, tipping his hat and escorting his wife inside. The hotel was small but very pleasant indeed. The floor was tiled with terracotta, and was deliciously cool compared to the baking sun outside. Margaret let out a breath she had not known she'd been holding.

They were escorted to their room by a porter, and were relieved to find their luggage had successfully made it to the hotel. Margaret closed the door, removing her hat and using it to fan her face.

"I'd say that was a rather successful morning." John said as he set his hat down on the small side table near the door. "Neither of us melted in this heat, for a start."

"Yes, it's rather warm isn't it?" Margaret said absently, sitting on the bed and watching as her red faced husband shucked his jacket. "I want to change my clothes, or at least take off the top layers for a little while. Perhaps I should call for a maid."

She decided she would change into her nightdress. She had packed a sleeveless summer nightgown for the trip, and the thought of being in such a cool dress was one that brought great relief. Though her clothes were a little lighter than the ones she usually wore, they were still rather bulkier than the clothes the Spanish women she had seen wore. It was a little stifling to be in so many layers. She removed the garment from her trunk, where Dixon had mercifully packed the gown close to the top.

"I'll help you." John offered, pulling his cravat free. "Just let me get all this off before I catch fire."

"You really are making a terrible fuss about this heat, darling. It is not so bad. It is cooler than your sheds." Margaret grinned.

Some of the sheds at the mill were kept at a stifling temperature to ensure the cotton did not suffer. Margaret had rarely been inside; it was far too hot, the extreme heat making her head swim. She did not know how the workers withstood such conditions.

"I don't notice the heat of the mill anymore." John shrugged. "I've too much else to think about. You and Dolores seemed to get along very well. What were you whispering about all day?"

"Dolores told me that she is expecting another child." Margaret said as she began to unbutton the fastenings that ran down the front of her dress. "In six months."

"She must be pleased." John said as he removed his shirt. "A little soon perhaps, after the time she had."

"I am still not with child." Margaret blurted out, her fingers trembling as she struggled with the buttons.

John's hands covered hers, pushing her fingers away gently and taking over their work. He stood in silence, undoing the buttons with great care. When he had finished, his fingers stroked her cheek, his lips coming to her forehead.

"Margaret, our time will come." He mumbled against her skin, that same whispered reassurance that he had given her for months. It felt empty now.

"When?!" She asked, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. "When? We have been married for a year John, yet my course has never been as much as a day late. Everyone I know was expecting within months of marriage, but we have not been blessed. Why?"

"These things can take time. It is not unheard of." John said.

"I am tired of waiting! Your mother has made entirely unsubtle hints about children more than once; Fanny too. Dolores asked me this afternoon, telling me I am missing out as though it is my choice! As if I would choose this for us! I ache for a baby. Why do I ache, John?"

She fell to the floor, furious with herself for her own wild emotions and bitter jealousy, hands rubbing angrily at her eyes. Her chest heaved, and she swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her. She sagged down, unable to bear the weight of her own head, so weakened was she by despair.

"Hey, hey." John knelt beside her, pulling her straight and taking her hands in his. "I cannot pretend to know that everything will work itself out, love. It has only been a year. There has been stress, times where we have barely been to bed together. I know how much you wish for a child, Margaret. I've seen it these past months. I wish for it too. Our time will come, I swear it."

"You cannot know for sure!" Margaret told him. "What if something is wrong with me? With us?"

"Damn it Margaret I will make you a mother. I cannot stand seeing you like this." He pulled her towards him, tucking her head underneath his chin. "It has only been a year love. We will keep trying, and we will hold our breath."

"I must give you a child." Margaret bit out, a sob following the world 'child'. "If I cannot do that.."

John shushed her as softly as he could manage. She sagged against him, months of biting her tongue and hiding her fears falling away. Her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him tight to her. Her hair was littered with his kisses as he tried his best to calm her.

"You must be my wife, Maggie, that is all. I know we had hoped to be awaiting a child by now, but it really has not been long."

Margaret pulled back to look up at him. He met her eyes, a small smile on his lips that did something to calm her. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

"Edith returned from her honeymoon expecting. Fanny a few months after, Dolores is already three months gone with her second not a year after her first!" Margaret countered, rattling off a list that proved she was right. "Yet I am not! What if I cannot have a child?"

"Then we will bear it!" John pleaded. "Please, don't talk like this. It kills me that I cannot give you what you want."

"I have to believe that the time will come." Margaret held his face. "I am sorry, John. I should not burden you with my worries."

He closed his eyes at her touch, leaning into it. His lips were set tight, the tendons of his neck tense as he swallowed. Margaret wondered what he was thinking, her chest burning with the weight of what she had just confessed. She had kept these fears secret, hidden in her heart. Dolores' words had released something in her that she could no longer suppress. It felt good to have finally told John - as though at least some of the weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Do you know me at all, love? Your worries are mine, and mine are yours. You are my wife, I do not want you to hide from me. I will give you a child one way or another. I cannot stand it - the look in your eyes when you hold your nieces, that longing. It is tearing me apart and there is nothing I can do."

"I am sorry I burden you so, John. I have tried to be strong, I have tried to be happy to be surrounded by nieces and cousins and my school children but - I am not sure how to be optimistic anymore. Each month, my course arrives exactly when it should and I feel a little more hope fade. A year of nothing."

She winced as John flinched at that; it was a cruel thing to say. It had not been a year of nothing at all. Margaret was entirely content in her marriage, and while being a mother had never been something she could imagine, it played increasingly on her mind. Seeing John play with Louise, or observing just how much the boys in the schoolroom admired him - it all made her realise that he would make a fine father. And now it seemed she was taking her frustration out on her husband, the person she cherished most in this world.

John merely squeezed her hand in his, kissing her forehead. His breath shook slightly as he exhaled, as though he were calming himself before he spoke. When the words did come, they were slow and considered.

"It has been the greatest year of my life, Margaret. The greatest honour to be your husband, and the most marvellous time. I love you more every day, I did not know that was possible. You make me a better man, Maggie. You could never burden me, never think that. My wonderful, wonderful wife. Please. Please, I will do anything to make you happy."

"You do make me happy." She stared up at him. "You make me the happiest I have ever felt. I cannot explain how I feel, all logic tells me I should just be patient. My heart is telling me something else."

"Perhaps we should lie together more often." John suggested, kissing her neck. "Every day - perhaps twice."

Somehow, Margaret laughed through her tears. She brushed them away, looking at her husband. How blessed she was to have a man like him. So many women would not share their fears like this with their husbands - Margaret felt blessed to truly have a partner with whom to travel through life. She was more grateful for him in that moment than she had ever been.

"I have tried to put it out of my mind, to simply enjoy our marriage for all the wonderful things that it is - but hearing Dolores announce her pregnancy - then tell me I was missing out by not having a child. It was as though she slapped me, though she meant no hurt with her words."

"We will have a family, Maggie." John said softly, brushing the hair from her face and kissing her temple. "Try not to lose hope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks for all the kind reviews, apologies if I've missed yours as my email isn't connecting to A03 for some reason. 
> 
> Smut lovers - there's a smut chapter coming up, I've had it written for a month or so and honestly it's rather saucy by my standards, so look forward to that..!


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature, and some slightly stronger language than I've used in the past.

Time was a cruel mistress.

If one was doing something unpleasant, such as a tediously long journey or perhaps a rather boring church service, time dragged so slowly Margaret was sure she could feel each grain of sand pass through an hourglass.

Their time in Spain passed so quickly it was as though someone was shaking that hourglass with vigour. Hours seemed to be mere minutes, and before Margaret knew it was almost time for her to travel back to England. It did not seem possible that three weeks could pass so quickly - it was not fair at all.

Their third week in Cadiz would be the last they spent together for some time; Frederick would take John to the cotton fields, then on to other cities in Spain. Senor Barbor, it turned out, had managed to drum up a great deal of interest in Marlborough Mills amongst his business contacts. Margaret was not quite sure how this had come to pass, but the prospect of thriving international trade had John quite excited indeed.

“This is a good opportunity for us, Maggie. If we can get some proper, consistent orders behind us, we’ll go into the winter with plenty of work. No more gaps in orders. We could even look to expand.” He had told her one night as they lay in bed. “I’ll just be sorry to be away from you for so long.”

“As will I.” She said, pressing a kiss to his bare chest. “But I am glad of this chance for you. Fred will be a good help to you, I am certain of it. He sounds rather funny speaking Spanish, doesn’t he? I feel quite uncouth that I can only speak English.”

“At least they understand you.” John muttered. “Senor Barbor asks me to repeat myself at least ten times a day.”

John’s thick Northern accent had caused a slight problem; though Dolores, her father and her brother spoke fluent English, they were unused to John’s thick Darkshire burr. Margaret felt rather mean the first time it had happened, for she had laughed quite unexpectedly as Dolores had asked John why he kept saying “eye”. Once it had been explained it was “aye”, meaning yes, Dolores had asked for more examples of the “strange words” John used until he shifted with embarrassment in his seat.

“You know he does not mean any harm. Fred has told me that Senor Barbor likes you a great deal. Has the trip been useful?”

“It’s good to see how others do their business, even if it is not the same line as mine. Senor Barbor seems to do a bit of everything, it is hard to keep it all straight.”

Though she did not quite understand what it was Senor Barbor’s business did, it seemed to be invested in many companies. Marlborough Mills, though independent in means since Margaret’s gift to her husband, was a prime opportunity for investment, it seemed. John knew foreign investors meant a greater chance of foreign trade, and so Senor Barbor would look around the mill when he was in England and decide if the manufacturing of cotton in England was something he could see a future in.

“I suppose it is a good thing to have a varied business - but he is not in manufacturing. There is value in focusing on one thing and doing it well too.”

“Aye, though sometimes I wonder if - if we made a different fabric, or even produced our own dyes, if business would be a little steadier.”

“There is time, darling. You can think more on this when we are back in Milton.” Margaret brushed her hand lightly against the dark hair on his chest. “How strange it will be to go home.”

“I’ll be away a while longer.” John pointed out. “Do not tease me with thoughts of home just yet.”

The men would travel together to inspect the cotton fields that John was perhaps to invest in, choosing to wait until Margaret and Dolores had left for England. The fields were not far, about an hour or two outside of Seville, but Frederick did not wish to leave his sister so soon after her arrival. Senor Barbor accepted this delay; he really was an exceptionally kind man, Margaret had learned. He knew how just how much it meant to the Hale siblings to be able to spend some time together without fear.

“Family.” The man had muttered in his deep, thickly accented voice at dinner one night. “Family is all we can count on in this life. Money, business - it is nice, but it can go as easily as it came. Family is worth more.”

“Do you miss it?” Margaret asked John. “Do you miss Milton?”

“Aye, I do. Mother’s been sending me letters and everything seems to be running smoothly but I’ll not pretend it is easy to be so far away. Of course, having you beside me makes it a little easier.” He kissed her hair, his hand resting against her stomach. “Still, perhaps I should come back with you.”

“Your mother would not lie to you, you know her better than that. It seems to me you have a fine opportunity and it would be a shame to let it slip through your fingers.”

“I’ll miss you, Maggie.” He leant down and kissed her, slowly and entirely unsubtle in his intentions.

Something had changed between them after Margaret’s confession at the start of their stay. Though her course had come as normal a few days after, she had not felt so downcast by it. After it had ended, John could scarcely keep his hands off her. As he had suggested, they went to bed together much more often - one day, Margaret recalled with hot cheeks, they had lain together no less than four times.

Spending time with her husband without the distractions Milton provided was most welcome; a year after their honeymoon, it would have been easy to lose the passion that a new relationship carried. Margaret instead felt refreshed, revitalised. She loved him more than ever.

“When did it come to pass that you call me Maggie more than you call me Margaret?” She asked with a wry smile as they broke apart. “You promised it would not become a habit.”

“I lied.” He said, moving to kiss her again.

“I do not have a nickname for you! It hardly seems fair.”

His lips hovered above hers, stealing a quick peck before he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Margaret, my name is four letters long. If you can’t manage that, then there’s little hope for you.”

“Fanny calls you Johnny, doesn’t she?”

He sighed, huffing at the sound of the nickname he hated.

“Aye, a name that manages to be longer than my actual name. She started calling me it when she was three and once she realised it drove me mad she did it as often as- can we not talk about Fanny?” John groaned, leaning his head against Margaret’s shoulder. “We were about to engage in a much more interesting pastime than discussing my sister.”

“Were we indeed?! It is late, we should sleep-”

“We will, when I’ve finished with you.” He growled in her ear, his hand creeping lower.

Margaret laughed, pulling him to her and kissing him soundly.

* * *

Margaret’s favourite part of their trip to Cadiz, besides from seeing her brother of course, were the deliciously long walks she took every evening. The day was far too hot to walk comfortably, and so she had taken to walking at around eight o’clock each evening. The city was still bustling, everything running much later due to the two hour siesta each day, and as the sun set it felt as though the entire place came alive.

There were public parks in the city, strips of green that peaked through alleyways or behind the public squares. The greenery was quite unlike anything Margaret had ever known; she had only read of such exotic flora. The palm trees that dotted the city were the most familiar thing to her, as she had seen those at the Great Exhibition. Everything just seemed to be so very bright and colourful, smelling wonderful and delighting every sense.

John walked with her most evenings, other times Fred or Dolores would accompany her, or they would all walk together. It brought her great peace to walk alongside the sea, staring out at ships heading out to see over the dimming horizon - the sky painted red as though it were on fire. The sea wall near the harbour stretched for a great distance, away from the bustle of the docks. If one walked far enough down, there was little noise to detract from the soothing sound of waves crashing against the rocks below the wall.

That evening, their penultimate in Cadiz, Margaret walked arm in arm with her husband.

“Oh, I shall miss this most of all.” Magraret sighed, inhaling. “I do so love the sea. As wonderful as Bournemouth was - I think Cadiz has it beaten, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, if memory serves Bournemouth had its own particular charms.” He muttered, his fingers brushing her waist. “In particular that afternoon we spent in the New Forest-”

“John!” Margaret hissed, her face burning at the memory of the rather private things they had had the audacity to do in public on their honeymoon. “Honestly, this heat is making you even more incorrigible than usual.”

“Forgive me.” He kissed her cheek lightly. “I shall miss this, you’re right. It has been a wonderful trip.”

“Tomorrow night we have the dinner to say goodbye.” Margaret said. “So this shall be our last chance to walk this beautiful path. I do hope I have brought the appropriate clothing; I brought one nice dress just in case, but I fear it might be a little too formal. I do not know!”

“You’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear.”

“You know this dress.” Margaret said. “Though I am not sure if you’ll even remember, but I wore it to the dinner party at-”

“I remember.” John said quickly. “Aye, you should wear it. Check with Dolores if you are worried it is too much.”

“I shall ask her. Oh, I am going to be so very sorry to leave this place but at least I shall have a little longer with baby Maria. She is so lovely, isn’t she?”

“Aye, she is.” John smiled. “Though she squawks like a parrot when she’s cross. I don’t think she likes me much.”

“She is a baby!” Margaret laughed. “I think she does not know you very well. You are so busy in the day and she sleeps so often, she has hardly had a chance to know you. Louise adores you, I think children take to you very well if they have a chance.”

“I did not think I was a very easy man to take to.” John said, though his lips quirked upwards at the compliment.

“Oh I don’t know, I have become rather fond of you.” Magraret nudged his shoulder with her head.

* * *

Margaret arrived at Dolores and Frederick’s house a short time later, accompanied by John who was to be going onto the offices of Barbor & Company. It was about nine in the morning, and Frederick would normally have been at work for around an hour already. John kissed her goodbye once she had rapped the heavy metal knocker against the door, walking away and towards one of the town squares where the business was located.

“Hello!” Margaret said in surprise as he answered the door, barefoot and jacketless. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I have decided that I shall take the day to spend with my beloved sister.” He grinned. “Though I am not sure what we shall do, as I am about to expire with tiredness. Maria did not sleep well last night and we had made the fatal mistake of giving her nanny the night off to visit her family.”

Margaret grimaced, looking at the shadows beneath her brother’s eyes.

“Where is the little angel now?” Margaret asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

“Lying in the garden on a blanket with her smitten mother. Do you know, I don’t think Dolores could ever be even slightly cross with that little cherub of ours.”

“I am sure it must be impossible!” Margaret agreed. “She is much too beautiful to ever be anything less than perfectly behaved.”

“You should have seen her at one o’clock this morning. And two. And three. And three thirty.” Frederick yawned. “I feel like I have been hit with a brick.”

“Why don’t I look after the baby? Go to bed, I am sure Dolores is exhausted too and it is important that she rests in her condition.”

Dolores had been wonderful companion to Margaret . She reminded Margaret a bit of her beloved cousin, if Edith had been less indulged and a little less obsessed with her appearance. Dolores was fiercely smart, with a wicked sense of humour. Her whole personna was so light and joyful that Margaret could not help but be affected by it.

“Margaret!” Dolores said, clambering to her feet.

It was not an easy task, nor an elegant one; Dolores had a small, defined bump and had been suffering from back pain, so rising from her position on the floor was rather difficult. Fred launched himself forward, helping his pregnant young wife to her feet.

“Go to bed.” Magaret said, kissing her sister in law on each cheek and running a fond hand down Dolores’ face. “You look exhausted. I will take care of the baby.”

Dolores muttered grateful, yawned thank yous as she grabbed Fred’s hand and dragged him back into the house. Margaret laughed, taking Dolores’ place by Maria’s side. She lifted the baby, rubbing her face against the crown of black curls.

“Hello, trouble.” She cooed, rewarded by a bright smile. “It is to be you and I for a little while. Shall we play?”

Margaret passed the morning reading to her little niece, tickling her warm rounded belly and peppering the smiling cheeks of her face with kisses. While Maria napped, like her parents upstairs, Margaret cradled the sleeping child in her arms. Perhaps it was indulgent to allow the baby to sleep like that, but Margaret could not resist it. She read one handed, an old Dickens book she had read half a dozen times.

“Isn’t this a sweet sight?” A deep voice interrupted her reading, and Margaret looked up to see John. “It’s lunch time. Where is everyone? One of the serving girls let me in, but she doesn’t speak English so I’ve no idea what she said to me.”

“Fred and Dolores are sleeping.” Margaret whispered. “Maria kept them awake all night.”

John sat on the ground beside his wife, crossing his legs like a child. Margaret almost laughed, he looked so peculiar. He kissed her hello, before leaning to kiss the sleeping baby on her forehead. Margaret thought her heart might break at the sight of it; with her dark hair, she could not help but wonder if her own child might resemble Maria one day.

Maria stirred at John’s touch to her forehead, whining slightly. John grimaced.

“I didn’t mean to wake her.”

“She’s been asleep for some time, she would be waking up soon anyway. Don’t be so scared of her darling, she is only tiny.”

Maria’s dark eyes open, looking first at Margaret and then at John. She reached up towards him, her pudgy little fist grabbing at the buttons of his waistcoat. Margaret passed the baby to him, sitting her on his lap.

“Hello.” John offered the baby his finger, which she took and immediately tried to chew. He drew it back, tapping the child on the nose as he grinned widely. “No, no. No, no no.”

Margaret thought she might cry at the sight of John whispering to the baby, holding her up and rubbing his nose against hers. It was so impossibly sweet, so unlike his usual serious demeanour. It made her ache, as she had ached every time she saw him with Louise, or Tom Boucher, or any child.

“Oh, she is awake!” Dolores’ voice startled both of them. “Thank you so much for taking care of her. She has been good?”

“A delight.” Margaret smiled. “An angel.”

* * *

Later that evening, Margaret dressed in the only fine dress she had brought with her; the dress she had worn to the dinner party so long ago. She had not worn it since; she had dressed largely in black during her time in London, and had avoided as many formal occasions as had been possible. The red dress from months ago had been a rare indulgence, and Margaret was not sure she had the confidence to wear such a bold dress amongst people she did not know, and had thus instructed Dixon to only pack the familiar, well loved blue green dress. A maid from the hotel helped to lace her in, for it was rather more complicated than the dresses John was used to.

“I think perhaps it does not fit as well as it used to.” Margaret frowned. “I knew I should have tried it on, but I did not think I would have cause to wear it.”

“I think-” John said, bending down and pressing kisses to her bare neck. “It looks even better than it did when I first saw you in it. You looked beautiful then, but far more wonderful now. Now, I can touch you.”

“John!” Margaret scolded. “We shall be late. There will be time enough for all that later.”

“Fine.” John said, catching her eye in the mirror and brushing a curl from her face. “You do look beautiful, Maggie.”

“You look very handsome. I have said this before but you look lovely when you are dressed in your finery.”

“Lovely?” John asked with a chuckle. “I do not think anyone has ever called me lovely.”

“I am happy to be the first. The only.” Margaret turned to kiss him. “We really must go. It would not do to be late.”

They arrived at the Barbor’s rather grand home at the same time as Frederick and Dolores. Dolores looked beautiful, as she always did, resplendent in a dark green gown. She wore her hair loose; Margaret envied her boldness.

“Good evening, how do you do?” Fred tipped his hat to both of them, playing the refined gentleman.

“Oh Fred, you are silly.” Margaret rolled her eyes, laughing. “Knock on the door then, we’ll catch cold standing out here all evening.”

Frederick rolled his eyes in return, but he rattled the brass knocker firmly. They were shown in by a maid Margaret did not know. Gentle music floated from the large drawing room, where Margaret had taken tea with Senora Barbor many times, and the sound of chatter in a foreign language almost overwhelmed her ears.

Dolores rushed off, greeting several people she knew. Margaret and John stuck together in a corner. She looked up at him; as confident as he was, as charming as he could be, he looked just as unsure as her.

“John! Margaret!” Senor Barbor’s booming voice rang out as the large man greeted them cheerfully. “So good to have you here! You are looking very splendid!”

“Thank you.” Margaret said. “Everything looks very nice indeed. Where is Senora Barbor?”

“Ah, how many times have we told you dear! You must call us Pablo and Isabella! Come, come, she is over here.”

Margaret was sorry Dolores’ mother would not be joining them on the trip back to England; Dolores had told Margaret that her mother suffered rather horrifically with seasickness, and such an unpredictable journey was not to her liking at all. So, it was to be Dolores, Margaret, Senor Barbour and of course Maria making the journey to England. One or two servants would accompany them; Senor Barbor’s man servant, and Maria’s nanny, as well as a maid to help Dolores and Margaret dress. It all felt rather elaborate, and Margaret was reminded once more of just how much money Dolores’ family had.

The evening passed quickly. Though several guests spoke English, Margaret mainly stayed with Dolores and her mother. Senora Barbor - Isabella - had begun to speak to Margaret in shaky, hesitant English and Margaret had attempted a few Spanish phrases in return. It was not perfect, but Margaret liked Isabella very much.

“Oh, I shall miss this.” Dolores sighed, leaning her head back. “Tell me, is society terribly boring in London? I have not heard much but the English seem so - so serious.”

“Why, thank you very much!” Margaret laughed. “It is not the season, so there will not be much call for socialising. My aunt has written to me to tell me she is throwing a dinner party in your honour - I wish she wouldn’t, as it seems a little conspicuous to me.”

“It will be fine.” Dolores said, patting Margaret’s bare arm. “You worry too much, sister.”

“Perhaps you do not worry enough.” Margaret laughed.

After a beautiful dinner and rather too much red wine, Margaret said goodbye to Isabella, as well as Dolores’ brother and the few women she had come to know during their time in Cadiz. She felt a real wrench leaving this place, knowing she would miss the white stone and blue skies, as well as the kind people. Of course, she would miss her beloved brother most of all.

* * *

“You looked beautiful tonight.” John kissed the top of her hair, moving to kiss her cheek, her neck, her ears. “I could not take my eyes from you.”

“You look very handsome.” Margaret replied, her hands on his lower back. “I saw many women looking at you with admiring glances. The tall handsome foreigner, Dolores said they called you.”

“There were other women there?” John asked, his hands stroking at the exposed skin of her collarbones. “I didn’t notice.”

The Spanish climate had done them both a world of good. Though catching the sun was considered most unfashionable indeed, Margaret’s cheeks had grown lightly freckled and a delicious flush had settled over her face - most likely caused by the red wine at dinner. She had never looked so beautiful, so content. All the pressures of the past year had been lifted from their shoulders.

“I do not want to go.” Margaret whispered, her hands on his chest as they stood by the door. “Do not send me back without you.”

“Margaret.” John replied, his lips moving to her forehead. “I will be travelling around so much. It is no life for a lady, but I will be home as soon as I can. Senor Barbor will make sure you get home safely, he is a good man.”

“I know, I know he is. I know I must go, and it will be so lovely to show Dolores London and Milton, but oh - I will miss you so.”

John kissed her hard, though he knew his mouth tasted of red wine. Hers did too, but he did not care. Perhaps he was drunk; drunk on the fresh sea air, drunk on the allure of his beautiful young wife looking so exquisite after such a lovely evening - and drunk on the Spanish wine that had flowed so freely at dinner, there was no denying that.

“Show me.” John whispered darkly in her ear, his hands already at the buttons on the back of her dress. “Show me how much you will miss me.”

Margaret ran her hands over his waistcoat, pushing it down off his shoulders. As he shrugged free, her hands played with the buttons of his shirt. As she undid each one, she pressed a kiss to the skin that lay exposed. She kissed her way lower as one button after another slid free, until she was kneeling on the ground in front of him. He pulled the damned shirt off, letting it fall to the floor as his focus turned to the goddess before him.

John’s breath hitched as he stared down at her, scarcely able to believe it when her hands worked at the button of his trousers. How strange to think that only a year ago, they had both been so unsure of this physical aspect of their relationship. John recalled their first time together, their wedding night; he had been so nervous his hands could barely stop shaking.

He had always admired Margaret’s bravery, her boldness - and that quality of hers had seen its way into their bedroom as well.

“Fuck!” John hissed as she took him into her mouth without hesitation. He would never grow used to that sensation, nor the image of his lovely wife on her knees as his back pressed into the wall. The feel of her fingernails biting into his hips was surely burned into his skin for all time. “Oh, Christ.”

Margaret looked up at him as she pulled back - but not before his temptress had run her tongue along the length of him almost tortuously slowly. It made him tremble, his thighs threatening to collapse as his eyes rolled back. She was wicked.

“John, must you swear?” Margaret asked, her fingers stroking at his quivering thighs. He gritted his teeth.

He did not make a habit of using bad language. He never cursed in his day to day life, but here - here in their bedroom, the forbidden words he had learned years ago at school came to his tongue easier than anything else. Margaret, ever the parson’s daughter, scolded him for such profanity. Sometimes, just sometimes, John drove her to the point where obscenities fell from her lips too. It gave him a pleasure he did not understand, to hear her lose control to the point she would curse and swear as she tightened around him.

“Yes, I fucking must.” John muttered breathlessly, pulling her up and pawing desperately at the swell of her breasts, the cut of her dress too unyielding for him to gain access to anything save the alluring rise of her cleavage. “Do you know what you do to me? How good you feel? You’re a damned witch, I swear it, the hold you have over me cannot be real.”

Margaret ran a hand over his manhood, taking him in her fist. Her eyes were wide as she held his gaze, playing the innocent. It was an act that drove him mad. How could she play this game when her hand worked at him so? When she knew exactly how to tug and pull and lap at him in a way that sent sparks up his spine?

“I think I understand a little.” She whispered, kissing the stubbled skin of his jaw as her hand did not cease its activity. He grunted as his hand fisted in her hair just to keep control. She hummed with pleasure. “I am no witch. Merely your wife.”

She was so gentle with her touches; sometimes he ached with it. It was as though love radiated from her fingertips and lips. Each brush of skin made him feel cherished. Each kiss made him feel wanted. Each nip of her teeth reminded him of her fierceness; it was still there, beneath the surface. Each tender, considered caress reminded him that she was so much more than he could ever hope to be. Kinder, cleverer, more compassionate, bolder, braver. He tore at her dress, needing to feel her skin against his. Margaret winced against his mouth as a ripping sound filled the space between them.

“Turn around.” He whispered as his hands stopped trying to ruin the front of her dress.

He undid each of the small buttons that lined the back, his fingers almost too large to slide the tiny things through the ridiculously small loops that held them in place. Women’s clothes, he had learned since marriage, were surely designed to frustrate even the most patient of husbands. Once he had removed the dress, there were still endless layers of petticoats, corsets and finally her chemise and drawers to contend with.

He loved taking off her corset. Freeing her of the contraption he felt she did not even need, tearing off the damn chemise she wore beneath it and seeing her bare - it was too much, no matter how often he practised that particular ritual. God, he would miss her. He would miss the very bones of her.

He knelt before her in turn as he blindly undid the fastenings of her petticoats, his face level with her chest. He peppered her with kisses from collarbone to belly button, mapping her torso with his lips. How would he last without her touch? He would be gone for months. He rose slightly and took a nipple in his mouth, running his tongue over it and closing his eyes in bliss as she cried out.

He pulled her petticoats to the floor with one firm yank, her drawers the last physical obstacle to where he needed to be. He unlaced them eagerly, tugging at the strings too hard. Margaret wiggled in protest.

“Slow down!” Margaret laughed, threading her hands through his hair. “Please, do not destroy all of my clothes, darling.”

“I’ll buy you more.” He mumbled as he pushed her drawers down to her ankles.

Immediately, he buried his face between her legs.

Hearing Margaret’s surprised gasp and breathy moans drove him on. He devoured her with his mouth, with all the hunger of a starving man. He loved doing this, this act that saw him down on his knees for her pleasure - he was sure he somehow enjoyed it even more than she did. This was a truly intimate act, one he knew other men turned their noses up at. He revelled in it, a stupid manly pride in being able to bring her to her peak using only his mouth. Though she had been mortified at first, Margaret adored it. She would never be so bold as to ask him to do it - but then again, he did not need asking.

“John!” Margaret cried out, and his name was music on her lips. It had never sounded so wonderful, he was sure. “John, the bed-”

Margaret always pulled him back to the bed, reluctant to make love anywhere but there. John did not mind this; it made her feel safe, and comfortable, and he would not deny her that. But this felt so deliciously taboo, kneeling before his wife as she controlled her own pleasure, her hips rising to meet his mouth. He’d done it before like this, months ago, but she had made him move too quickly.

“There’s time for the bed.” He broke away. “I want to make you come against the wall.”

His lust filled words made her eyes roll in her head, her fists clench by her side. She nodded, head lolling back against the wallpaper as she pulled him, his hair wound tightly around her fingers, back to her center.

He groaned then, long and loud, loving it when she took charge of him. He loved that she knew what she wanted now. Though he was just as inexperienced as she was at the beginning, both virgins until their wedding night, both hesitant, he had at least had the dubious benefit of overhearing frankly filthy conversations at gatherings. Men loved to discuss business, and they loved to discuss sex. He had known exactly what went on between man and woman, the terms for things, the bedroom habits of others. Margaret had known nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He would never have expected her to lie back and think of England as so many women were urged to do in their marriage beds. He was unafraid to admit that he had had no idea what he was doing at first, he was determined that she would enjoy herself in their bed. And that is what had happened - he was confident now that she enjoyed their marriage bed every bit as much as he did.

John had never cared for the physical side of life before marriage, now he felt consumed with it. He wanted to touch her constantly, be buried inside her constantly. Nights could not come quickly enough. Though they had begun their intimate relationship hesitantly, a year later they had both discovered what brought them the most pleasure. John enjoyed talking to her, filthy thoughts that brought a burning blush to her cheek yet made her tight around him as a true signifier of her desire for him. Margaret, though her face would burn if he ever mentioned it, loved to dig her nails into him - giving him just the slightest sting of pain.

Margaret’s breath was shaky, her thighs trembling beneath his palms. She was close, he knew, and he quickened his pace. She cried out, one thigh raising as she practically crushed his head between them in her desperation to keep him there. She cried his name, clawed at his shoulders, tugged at his hair. It was exquisite.

“Please!” Her voice was hoarse, her hips bucking uncontrollably. “Oh, please!”

He continued mercilessly until she stilled, though her breath came in near sobs as she came against his face. He wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve before taking the damned thing off and throwing it somewhere behind him. He kissed her deeply, his hands lost in her hair as she pushed him towards the bed. He kicked off his trousers on the way, shoving them over his hips and down over this legs as quickly as he could manage without falling over.

He realised with a smirk that she was still wearing her shoes and stockings. She kicked them off, and John dove forward and peeled the stockings from her thighs, rolling them down and pulling them from her legs as she held onto his head for balance. Margaret laughed.

“I didn’t even notice that I was still wearing them.”

“Neither did I. Bed, Maggie.”

He stood up, taking her hand and stepping blindly backwards as he kissed her soundly. He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around him and allowed herself to be carried to the bed, breathless giggles rising from her chest as she tried to keep her balance.

“I will miss you.” Margaret said as his back hit the mattress and she steadied herself atop his thighs. She stroked her fingers up and down his face, tracing his lips. “I will miss your voice. I shall miss your eyes, your nose, your mouth.”

“What of my hair?” John asked, wounded. “You forgot my hair.”

She looked at him carefully, a mischievous smile on her face as she carefully considered whether or not she would miss his hair. She held the strands between her fingers as she made her deliberations.

“Your hair, of course, sir. And your ears.” She leaned down to run her tongue along his left ear. She peppered kisses along his neck. “I shall miss your neck, and your jaw. Your throat, your chest..”

“My cock?” He asked, knowing full well that his words teetered on the very edge of decency. “Shall you miss that, too?”

His coarse question coaxed a small smile from her, though she continued the tracing of his body. Her fingers dusted over his hip bones, down his thighs. Damn tease.

“A little.” Margaret ghosted her fingertips over the length him.

“Just a little?” John asked. “Perhaps I should just go now then-”

John sat up, twisting as if he would leave her. As if he could ever leave while she sat on him like that. She was always shy when he spoke lustily like this, and though he did not wish to cause her any embarrassment, he could not help but vocalise just how much he wanted her - how desperately he craved her.

“No!” Margaret laughed, hands on his shoulders now to pin him there. “Fine. I shall miss your-”

“Say it.” John whispered throatily. “Tell me.”

She leaned down so her lips were next to his ear. Her warm breath on the sensitive skin and the sound of her breath so close made him shudder. Her hand wrapped around him, and it almost killed him. So did the filthy, filthy whisper in his ear.

“I shall miss your cock, John. I shall miss your tongue, and your fingers. I shall miss you fucking me.”

His breath escaped him in one woosh, so utterly shocked by her words that he could not get hold of his senses. He had turned his fine Southern lady into a savage like him. He pulled at her hair, crushing their mouths together as he moved her and pushed his cock up inside her as quickly as he could. Margaret sank down onto him, groaning into his mouth.

“How will I live without you for months?” John asked his wife, wrapping his arms tight around her shoulders as she lay flat atop him. He needed her close - indeed, they were so close that the tips of their noses touched. “Promise me you will keep yourself safe. Do not take any risks. Do not come to any harm while I am away.”

“John.” Margaret replied breathily as she moved on him. “Now is - now is not the time for this. I will be safe. I will be well. Now be quiet and make love to me.”

He did as she asked, though he rolled them over so she lay flat on her back underneath him. He loved her astride him, but he also loved holding her beneath him as he moved without restriction. The feel of her breasts pressed against the flatness of his own chest, the slide of skin against skin - it all drove him to madness. She was so incredibly beautiful, her forehead glistening with exertion as she threw her head back in pleasure. They moved wordlessly, hips growing increasingly erratic.

“I love you.” He gasped too loudly, too out of control to monitor the volume of his voice. “I love you.”

“I love you. John, I’m going to-”

Margaret could not bring herself to say the words, covering her mouth to stop them escaping. He dipped his head to press a desperate kiss to her neck, muttering against her skin.

“Come for me. Come all over my cock, Maggie.”

“John!” Margaret protested, her legs curling around his hips, her heels digging into his lower back.

“P-please.” His voice stuttered helplessly. “Fucking come for me.”

He was openly begging her, not caring for decency or modesty. He was too close for that. He spoke in the roughest, most ungentlemanly terms. He would apologise for his foul mouth later. She sank her teeth into his shoulder at his outrageous demand as she fluttered torturously around him, and he followed her over the edge as pleasure raced through him, touching him everywhere from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair.

Everything in his body seized so tightly it almost hurt, and he knew he would not last much longer. He urged her on, his hands gripping on her shoulders. He roared as she almost sobbed his name, his hips faltering..

He stayed where he was, feeling boneless and sated. It was remarkable how peaceful he felt after they had been together. Any worries melted away as easily as snow in rain.

“John.” Margaret tapped him on the nose. “You are too heavy.”

He muttered apologies and rolled onto his side, realising he had been too drunk with pleasure to support his own weight. He kissed her endlessly, his hands holding her close. The prospect of months without her after being side by side for a year gnawed at him. God, he would miss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed some more smut! I should be posting another chapter next week or so but things are about to get very busy. I have the next six chapters written, they just need tweaking here and there. I'm also working on a "trapped in the house because of snow" Christmas fanfiction set in the middle of the story after Margaret's mother has died, so keep an eye out for that. Please let me know your thoughts! (Unless they're mean, then don't tell me. I'm very fragile.)


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

“Oh Fred.” Margaret stood at the dockside, aware that to look too distraught at this goodbye would attract unwanted attention. “I do not want to go. Who knows when we will see each other again?”

“You have made it this far once, sister. Every moment we have spent together is the greatest blessing. Dolores so wants to see England, and I can think of nobody better to show her than you.”

“Her father would manage-”

“But I will not be here, so you all might as well be off having fun together in England. It is rather nice to be needed, and if I can help your husband in his business then that is the most I can do to repay him for the kindness he showed you when I could not protect you.”

“Write to me.” Margaret asked. “Every month. I need to hear your silly observations on everything. And I shall write more often as well. Oh Fred, will we ever see each other again?”

“Yes, sister. I swear it. One day we will be standing here again, old and grey and surrounded by the dozens of children we’ll surely have between us - bored of each other’s company because we have been reunited so often!”

Margaret smiled, her eyes filling with tears. What a lovely thing to imagine.

“Keep safe.” Magaret kissed his cheek. “I will see you again.”

“See you.” Fred smiled, squeezing her hand.

He moved away to fuss over his wife and baby. Senor Barbor had already boarded the ship, and Margaret knew there was not long before it would sail. John stood nearby, waiting for her to finish her goodbye to Frederick. She walked to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. She inhaled deeply, and he did the same as he rested his face against her hair.

They pulled back, and John smiled down at her. Oh, that smile. It weakened her knees and tore at her heart at the same time. She did not know why she was so emotional; the journey back to England was not a particularly dangerous one, and she would surely see him again soon. Yet - it hurt to leave him.

“Write to me.” Margaret said. “Write to me every week. I will send my replies to Frederick’s house, and they will wait for you when you return to Cadiz before you come home to me. Please, promise me you will write to me.”

“Of course. God, I’m going to miss you.” John reached into his pocket and removed three envelopes. “Could you give this to Mother? It is merely to say hello to her, but I know I will have my guts for garters when I get home if I sent you back with notes to my workers and not her. And this one is for my men, to tell them what they need to know. The final one is for you, should you miss me. Save it for when you’re back in Milton. Safe journey. I hope Dolores and Maria enjoy England, her father as well.”

Margaret took the letters from him, opened her small valise and dropped them inside.

“I think they will. I shall take them to London, to visit Aunt Shaw. We shall be careful in Milton; if anyone asks, they are my father’s relations.”

“I do not know how a man as pale as your father would be related to an exotic creature like Dolores. She is as different to your family as day to night.”

“His uncle’s grandchild.” Margaret supplied, her face not slipping. “He moved to Spain when my father was a boy and Dolores is his granddaughter. She will use her mother’s maiden name when she is here, so nobody can make the connection even to Frederick’s alias - we will say her husband has stayed behind in Spain. I doubt anyone would care enough to even hear the story, but we will not make things difficult when they do not need to be. If anyone asks about her husband - he is a Spanish man who could not travel with us.”

“Did you really have an uncle who moved to Spain?” John asked curiously.

“Of course not. But you believed me, so the lie will be quite convincing. Fanny must be quiet - you do not think she will betray my trust, do you?”

“I hope not.” John said. “Though Dolores is not the guilty one, they would have no cause or even sufficient evidence to keep her in England. Fred is safe in Spain, I do not believe they would ever manage to extradite him.”

“He uses a false name here, I do not believe there is any connection to his true identity at all - except me, I suppose. Maria will use a different false name socially in London, there is no way anybody could prove that they even know each other. It is best she visits now, before Maria can speak. It is less complicated that way.”

John nodded, his hands taking hers and kissing her knuckles. She smiled, though she felt her throat tighten. It was silly, really. She would see him soon, he was not leaving forever. Yet to be parted from her husband was a wrench she had not anticipated.

“Please take care. And make sure that mill of ours is still standing.”

Margaret kissed him, not caring in the slightest that they were in public. She pulled back, her eyes drinking in his dark, handsome face. She felt tears well in her eyes - silly, really, for they would only be apart for a few months.

“I love you.” She murmured, kissing his nose. “I hope your trip is fruitful. Make sure Frederick behaves himself.”

John chuckled.

“I’ll be home before you know it. Back with you.” He kissed her cheek. “Go, love. Dolores and her father have boarded and it would not do for the ship to sail without you. However much I wish to keep you here with me.”

Margaret nodded, picking up her carpet bag and taking a deep breath.

“Take care.” Margaret said thickly. “Take care, my love.”

Margaret boarded the ship, finding her cabin with ease. She placed her bag down and went up to the open deck. She could see John and Fred standing on the quayside. Dolores stood against the railings, Maria in her arms.

She spoke in Spanish to the babe, pointing at Fred. Margaret heard “papa” so assumed Dolores was perhaps saying something like “wave goodbye to Daddy”. John caught sight of her and gave her a small, awkward wave. He looked so very English, Margaret almost laughed.

“Goodbye!” Margaret called out. “Goodbye.”

Her brother and husband remained on the quayside until the boat sailed. Margaret remained at the boat rails, staring after them until they grew very small - and eventually faded out of sight as the ship moved out to sea.

“I will put her to bed.” Dolores nodded to Maria, who was yawning. “She is very sleepy. I am too.”

“Of course. You must rest, we do not want to over exert you. I hope the crossing shall be smooth, it takes three or four days, depending on the weather. Our journey out was not too bad at all.”

“Good.” Dolores smiled. “I am very excited to be seeing England. And to meet your family, and see your home.”

They began to walk back to their cabins; Maria’s nanny accompanied them, though Dolores kept the child in her arms. Maria and the nanny would have their own room on this trip, and Margaret and Dolores would share. It was only a small ship, limited in accomodation, but Magraret did not mind sharing a room with her sister-in-law.

“I will be so glad to show you. I only wish Frederick could accompany us.”

“We must keep him safe.” Dolores said, her mouth set. “I - I do not know how to say exactly how I feel. I worry for him.”

“It is alright. I must learn Spanish.” Margaret smiled. “Then we would have nothing between us.”

“You would enjoy the language, I think. I could teach you. It will keep us busy on this journey.”

Though Dolores occasionally stumbled on words or phrases, her English was impeccable. Margaret was sure she would never be so skilled at a foreign tongue.

They reached the cabins, and Dolores pressed a kiss to Maria’s cheek. She passed her to the nanny, wished the pair goodnight and linked her arm through Margaret’s. They proceeded to their own rooms, and Margaret resumed their conversation.

“Fred has certainly taken to the language well.” Margaret said. “I am glad of it. I am glad he has settled into his life here.”

“We try to only speak Spanish at home. Maria will learn both, and the new baby of course.”

“How lovely to have two children so close in age.” Margaret smiled, hiding her face from Maria and then reappearing. The child giggled wildly.

“Margaret I - I want to say that I am sorry. I realised my words when I told you of my pregnancy, they were - were not kind.”

“Nonsense.” Margaret blinked. “They were fine.”

Dolores shook her head, worrying her lip and absently running a hand over her stomach. Margaret put her hand on her sister-in-law's arm, not wanting her to be upset. Of course, Dolores’ words had indeed upset her greatly. It was not her fault, she was not to know that Margaret had her own concerns.

“I can be careless with my words, and I have seen the way you look at Maria. You want a child very much, si?”

“Yes.” Margaret sighed. “Yes, I do. It is no matter, it has not been so very long since John and I married. I think I am just a little exhausted by everything, and my emotions have rather gotten the better of me. It has not been an easy few months, and seeing Fred, meeting you, seeing your child - it is overwhelming, that is all.”

“It is a longing though. In your heart.”

“Yes.” Margaret whispered. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I am sorry if I upset you. I did not mean to.”

“No, no it is not you. I just worry that there is something more to this; I do not know anyone who has been married a year and is still not expecting, that is all.” She said the words slowly, hoping that Dolores would change the subject. It hurt.

“It is possible.” Dolores reassured her. “It does not mean you will never have a baby of your own, sister.”

“I know. I know. And now John shall be gone for months, and I will have to wait even longer. It is so strange, I never thought I would be so eager to have children.”

“Marriage does something to you.” Dolores smiled, her eyes far away and dreamy. “It gives you a fire, no? A desire for a child.”

Margaret supposed that, if she really thought on it, she wanted a family that was truly her own. Her mother and father were gone, her aunt constantly away. Her cousin had a family of her own now, as did her brother. John was her family now, yet sometimes she felt as though she had merely latched onto his life - rather than creating something that was just hers.

“I suppose.” Margaret felt a little uncomfortable discussing this. It felt private; it felt ridiculous in a way, that she was so upset about this when she knew it had not been long at all. “I would rather not discuss it.”

“Of course.” Dolores nodded. “Tell me about London. What I shall see, who we shall meet.”

“Well, we shall stay with my Aunt Shaw in Harley Street. She has insisted. She is my mother’s sister. She can be rather sharp, but she is kind in her own way. You will probably meet my cousin Edith’s brother-in-law Henry, and his new wife. His wife is from Milton, the daughter of John’s banker.”

“Did you introduce them?” Dolores asked.

“Yes. Henry did a great deal to try and help Frederick. Then after you have had a chance to rest from the journey, we will go to Milton. It is not as beautiful as London, and it is cold and damp even in summer. It is my home now, and I love it.”

“Then I shall love it too.” Dolores said firmly. “Frederick wishes me to go to your mother’s grave, to say a prayer for her there. Will you take me?”

“Of course. I know your father has business to do in Milton - I believe John has put him in touch with Mr Watson, my brother-in-law. I will show you my school room, if you wish to see it.”

“I wish to see everything. I have never left Spain. My father has been to England before, but he did not take us children.”

“I find that so hard to believe. Your English is so good.”

“Father always wished his children to speak more than one language. My French is not bad either. Of course, once I met Fred I spoke English every day. Now we are trying to speak more Spanish for the baby’s sake.”

“I suppose we must be confusing her terribly.” Margaret said. “Speaking in English all of the time.”

“She will know the two languages fluently as soon as she can speak, I insist on it. It is good she hears English spoken by the English. I value education greatly.”

“As do I - though I missed out on another language. Speaking another tongue - it must be like having a magic key that unlocks a new world.”

Dolores laughed.

“Mostly it is just confusing.”

* * *

The journey was mercifully smooth, though little Maria did not like even the slightest bobbing. Margaret had walked miles, trying to rock the little girl to sleep with soothing noises. Nothing worked, and the whole party (save for Senor Barbor who had been blissfully unaware of the ordeal, far away in his own cabin) emerged onto English soil utterly exhausted.

They arrived in London a weary crew. Aunt Shaw was out for the day, and the maid who answered the door looked a little bemused as she showed the disheveled foreign strangers to their rooms.

It was strange to be back in the room Margaret always used on her visits to Harley Street without her husband. The prospect of sleeping in a bed large enough for two entirely alone made her rather sad. Still, it would not do to mope for too long; he would be home soon enough, and until then she would have the wonderful company of her sister in law for at least a few weeks.

Dolores did not come down until the next day. Margaret greeted her and introduced her to Aunt Shaw, who had already eaten breakfast.

“Hello, my dear. Gosh, aren’t you an exotic thing.”

“It is nice to meet you, Mrs Shaw.” Dolores nodded. “I have heard very much about you from Fred.”

“I am sure none of it was good, since that boy always knew how to get on my last nerve with stunning precision.” Aunt Shaw said, though a fond smile crept onto her face. “Where is my little great niece? Margaret says that she has the most wonderful hair.”

“She is just getting dressed. She has not been sleeping so well these past weeks. Her teeth.” Dolores explained. Her voice was rather shyer than Margaret was used to, and she was reminded just how intimidating it must be for Dolores to meet her husband’s family without his support.

“And I understand congratulations are in order, you are expecting again?”

“Yes. The baby will be here in February, perhaps March.” Dolores smiled, though she fiddled with her wedding ring.

“How lovely.”

The time in London passed quickly; Senor Barbor seemed to have endless business connections in the city and was out most days and indeed most evenings as well. Dolores and Margaret delighted in one another’s company.

Aunt Shaw was rather wary of her new foreign visitors at first, though Dolores’ warm heart and infectious youthful enthusiasm infected the house with a sense of joy Margaret had not felt in all of her time at Harley Street. Margaret missed Milton greatly; she had found herself wondering what the school children were doing, and how the mill had fared in their absence. John had received regular news, but there was always a fear in the back of his mind that perhaps they were not telling him the truth.

After a week, Senor Barbor declared his business in the city finished. And so, Dolores, her father, Margaret, the baby and the nanny spread themselves over two train carriages for the journey to Milton. As the now-familiar countryside flashed past, Margaret felt a strange nervousness settle in her chest. It was as though someone was squeezing the breath from her body. It was a risk, she supposed, to bring Dolores and her father to Milton. The only people who would know their true identity would be Fanny and Mrs Thornton, as well as perhaps Watson. Margaret could only hope Fanny would hold her tongue.

After a long, tedious journey, the group alighted at Outwood Station, taking two carriages (for Dolores did not travel light) to Marlborough Mills. The city looked different after the almost blinding whiteness of Cadiz and the familiar brick buildings of London. It was dirtier, certainly; Margaret could see the smoke hanging in the air. At the same time, she could not help but smile - for she was home.

The whistle had already gone by the time they arrived, and the yard was empty. The gate was still open as the foremen finished for the day, and they walked into the mill yard. Margaret knew she was grinning like a fool; having been gone for nearly two months, it truly was good to be home. She just wished John was standing by her side.

“Margaret.” Hannah called, walking down the steps from the main house.  
“Hannah.” Margaret nodded. “It is good to see you.”

“I thought you might be bringing my son back with you, but he has written to tell me it’ll be a good two months before he’s home.”

“Yes. There are some good opportunities he wishes to explore, and Senor Barbor was coming to England anyway. John thought it best I come home ahead of him.”

“Well I suppose you’d best introduce me to your guests.” She nodded towards Dolores and her father, who were standing a few yards away.

“Of course. Dolores, my sister-in-law.” Margaret said in a soft voice, though there was nobody to overhear. “Her father, Senor Pablo Barbor. My niece, Maria.”

“I have obtained a crib for the child.” Hannah said after she had greeted them both with a small, tight smile. Her face softened when she saw the baby, bundled up against the comparatively cold Milton climate, even in late summer. “She’s a tiny thing, isn’t she?”

Hannah reached out to stroke the babe’s raven curls, and Maria squawked with displeasure as balled fists batted the stranger’s hands away. Hannah smiled, tapping Maria’s nose and cooing. It always surprised Margaret how gentle Hannah was with babies.

“Yes.” Dolores said. “She is. Our baby bird.”

“Come in, come in. I’ll send the servants to fetch your things. Fanny is here, my daughter.” Hannah said, explaining to her guests. “With my granddaughter, Louise. She is the same age as your girl.”

“Lovely. I have heard very much about Fanny, as I have this place.”

“Has the mill been alright?” Margaret asked as they walked towards the house. “John thought things sounded a little too good to be true in the letters he received.”

“He thinks I’d lie to him?” Hannah scoffed. “It’s all been surprisingly smooth in your absence, though if he ever thinks to go away for months again I might have a strong word with the man.”

Margaret laughed.

“Perhaps he is just a little cautious, that is all. I think Cadiz will be very good for him; he has already made some contacts who are most interested in placing orders. He is travelling all over Spain with my bro- with Senor Barbor’s employee.”

“You may talk about your brother here. Fanny knows she is to keep quiet; John sent her a rather stern letter.”

“He didn’t say.”

“Aye, she was most indignant about it.”

“I must thank her for her discretion then.”

“I wouldn’t thank her just yet. You’re looking well, Margaret. You’ve caught the sun.”

“Yes, I wore a wide brimmed at every day but still I find myself rather freckled. The heat was wonderful. John’s chest is much better.”

“Good. A terrible winter that was.”

“Indeed. Oh, it is lovely to be back. I am most tired of travelling.”

“Will you rest before dinner?” Hannah asked.

“I am sure Dolores would benefit from it. Did John mention in his letters that she is expecting?”

“No, he didn’t. Of course she must rest. I’ve made up the spare rooms for them, Dixon will show them.”

“Oh, I must go and see her. I did not write to her and I am sure she will be quite furious with me.” Margaret smiled.

She had brought gifts back for those she was close to; some fine Spanish lace for Hannah and Fanny, an exquisite shawl for Emma and various trinkets that she knew Dixon would admire.

“She’s been most quiet since you’ve been gone. I might almost have come to like her.”

The house was warm despite the damp from outside, and Margaret breathed in deeply. The smell of home surrounded her, and it made her think of John - still far away in Spain.

Dolores and the rest were taken to their rooms. Margaret went into the parlour, where Fanny sat on the floor. It was a most unusual sight, yet she was waving a rattle before a rather indifferent Louise. The child was almost one year old, still as blonde as her mother. Her eyes were a bright blue, her cheeks full and chubby. It had been some time since she had seen her aunt, and Margaret felt a little sad at the lack of recognition from the babe that had been there before they had left for Spain.

“Hello!” Margaret joined Fanny and the baby on the floor.

“Oh you are so freckly Margaret! Really you should stay out of the sun. You were just the same after your honeymoon.”

“I love walking. I do not mind the sun, I do not know why you are so afraid of it. All the women in Spain have the most glorious complexions.”

“Hmm. Where is your sister-in-law - or your uncle’s daughter or whatever the story. John really was most impertinent in his letter, as though I cannot be trusted to keep a secret!”

Margaret thought it best not to address that.

“She is resting. She is expecting again and is rather exhausted from travelling.”

Fanny’s nose wrinkled.

“I cannot imagine being in that condition again. It was the worst time of my entire life.”

“I know. Dolores was very unwell, but she seems to be much better this time. Perhaps it would be the same for you.”

“I do not care to find out.” Fanny said. “Louise is quite enough for me.”

“Does Watson not want a son?”

“If Watson wants a son, he can carry him himself.” Fanny huffed, pulling Louise onto her lap and pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’ll see what I mean one day. It really is the most dreadful chore.”

Margaret swallowed, but tried to push down any emotion she might have felt.

“Has much happened while we’ve been away?”

“Not really. I have been dreadfully bored since Anne moved to London. She has written to me and I am jealous of all the fun she seems to be having.”

“I am sure it will all settle down once the season is over. Besides, London life can be rather tedious after a while.”

“Oh you sound just like Mother!” Fanny rolled her eyes. “What was Spain like? Was it beautiful?”

“Oh, yes. The most stunning buildings and churches, beautiful sea, palm trees.” Margaret sighed. “Oh it was blissful.”

“It has rained all summer.” Fanny huffed.

There was a small tap at the door. Dolores, holding Maria, peered round.

“Hello.” She smiled, walking in. “You must be Fanny.”

“And you must be Dolores. You are a lot prettier than I thought you would be.”

Dolores blinked for a moment, but merely smiled.

“Thank you. This is your daughter? She is a beauty. Your hair, both of you, it is beautiful. Like gold.”

“Thank you.” Fanny, always one for receiving complements, shone with pride. “This must be Maria.”

Dolores set the dark haired babe down next to the golden one, and Margaret smiled at the sight. She never thought she would see her nieces side by side, and wished John could see it too.

* * *

It was decided that they would spend two weeks in Milton before beginning their journey back to Spain. Dolores wished to return home before she became too large and uncomfortable to travel - she was concerned about sea sickness, as autumn was on its way and often brought with it rough seas.

The mill had indeed fared well in its master’s absence. The workers welcomed Margaret back warmly, shouting enquires after Mr Thornton. The children were very glad indeed to see her, and several of the smaller girls flung themselves at her waist as they arrived at school the first day she was back.

The one thing that dampened her good spirits was the empty space in bed where her husband should have been. It had been only two weeks, and it was possible he would be away another two months yet, but she missed him most bitterly indeed.

One night, as she climbed into bed, she reached into the drawer of the cabinet by her bed. She had stored the letter he had written her there, not wanting to open it too soon. But tonight, she needed to feel his presence. She tore the envelope open and as she unfolded the paper, she was instantly comforted by his familiar handwriting - careful as it always was.

_Maggie,_

_It is very late, but it is so hot that I cannot get comfortable. You are sleeping a few feet away from me as I write this, but I felt the need to write to you so that you have something you can open at home - if you should miss me. I do not know what it will feel like to be apart from you for so long after spending the last year almost constantly by your side. Know this; I will think of you every day. You have made me a better man than I ever thought I could be. To be loved so completely by you is the greatest honour and gift. You are the best wife a man could ask for - nothing will ever change that. Nothing._

_Before we married, I did not imagine that anyone could ever miss me, the misery that I_ _know I can be. Yet I hope you will yearn for me just as much as I know I will for you._

_I shall see you soon, my darling girl._

_Always yours,_

_John_

Margaret held the letter to her chest as tears welled in her eyes. She could hear his voice as clearly as if he were beside her, each word meaning more to her than he could ever know. She breathed deeply. He would be home in due course.

Little did she know, a most welcome surprise awaited both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you on Christmas Eve for the next chapter..think of it as an early present..


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

It had been a long three months.

John had not expected to be away for so long, yet travelling all over Spain took a great deal of time. Senor Barbor had contacts everywhere, and the idea of foreign trade was something that John was greatly interested in. After Margaret had left, John had stayed in Cadiz for two weeks. It felt wasteful, to be so far away from his business and his wife. He wondered if he'd made the right decision to stay away for such a long time when he could have done without foreign investment or trade. However, the trip had gone so well that he was sure it would be worth it. He wanted to ensure their future, to make Marlborough Mills the best it could be.

Two months was a long time to travel, but he felt his mind had been broadened by it. He returned to Cadiz the investor of a cotton field and with twenty new contracts. A most successful trip indeed.

Though it would not be easy maintaining these deals so far away, John relished the expansion. Fred would serve as translator when needed, paid of course. John, never one for having friends, had grown rather fond of Margaret's brother. He talked too much, and told the filthiest jokes John had ever heard, left over from his navy days. They would surely make Margaret and Dolores blush.

The pair arrived back in Cadiz in mid October. John had booked passage back to England before they had even left, and he was glad to know that he would soon be back in England. He missed it more than he thought he ever would - it was hard not to be understood, as well as learning the different cultural norms. Still, it was all over now and soon he would be back in Milton with his wife in his arms. The ship sailed the following morning.

John paced the small room where he was staying in Fred and Dolores' house when someone knocked on the door.

"Dolores said these came for you, she forgot to give them to you earlier." Fred said, handing John a stack of letters. "Margaret's handwriting, I'd know it anywhere."

The address on the top envelope was, as Fred said, written in his wife's hand. John's heart swelled merely at the sight of his name in her handwriting. He took the letters from Fred, muttering thanks but desperate to be alone. He closed the door. Lying down on the bed, he tried to work out which to open first. When he turned the envelope over, he realised she had carefully written the date in the bottom left hand corner.

Oh, she was clever.

Finding the first letter, he tore it open.

_26th August 1853_

_Dear John_

_How strange it is to be in Milton without you. We returned here this evening after a lovely week in London. I am sorry I did not write to you there. Dolores seems to like it here, though it is as different to Cadiz as day to night. The climate does not suit Maria so well, but I think she will grow used to it in time. Dolores and Fanny seem to be quite taken with one another, and your mother and Pablo spoke for hours over dinner. It is a great relief to me that they get on well._

_I miss you. How empty our bed will feel without you._

_I do not know of your plans or where you are at the moment, for I have not yet received a letter from you. I am sure it is merely the postal service, for you are a man of your word and would not fail to write to your besotted wife. I read your letter that you gave me tonight, for I was missing you most dearly. I do yearn for you, husband. You have my heart most completely and I ache for you._

_Please be safe on your travels, knowing how much you are cared for by your family - and utterly adored by me._

_Be well, husband_

_Ever yours,_

_Margaret_

He tore open the next letter, and the next, reading each one with rapt attention. It was as though he could hear her voice in his head. He reached for the next one, the penultimate letter in the pile.

_25th September 1853_

_John,_

_Dolores left almost three weeks ago now, yet I still miss her company greatly. It feels like a loss all over again, though I know I shall see her again. I have not had much time to write to you, nor have I had any letters from you (I am sure it is merely the postal service from your part of the world), so I shall tell you how her visit went. I am very pleased to say that your family welcomed mine most warmly._

_Dolores taught the children in the school room a few Spanish words - I never thought I would see the day those children could speak even a tiny amount of another language. She is a natural teacher, I am sure Maria will be the cleverest child Cadiz has ever known with a mother such as her. The climate took some adjusting to, and the baby did not like being near the smoke and noise of the mill. Dolores even spent a night or two at Fanny's house - to my great surprise, they got on very well indeed. Fanny, I think, was rather jealous of Dolores' exotic appearance, but they spent time together with their children. We went to the theatre one night, it was very pleasant indeed._

_I have been very busy teaching, though these last few days I-_

That line was scribbled out, and John frowned. Margaret was always so careful in her correspondence, never making mistakes or changing her mind once she had decided upon what she was going to say. He squinted, trying to make out the words that lay beneath the thick black line blocking them out - but he could not.

_I miss you. I feel alone._

_Thinking of you always,_

_Margaret_

He felt sick reading the last line of her letter - he never wanted her to feel like that. Thank god he was going home the following morning, thank god he was returning to her at last. He hesitantly opened the last one, dated two weeks previously.

_10th October 1853_

_John,_

_I need you. Come home._

_M_

* * *

Margaret stretched out her arms into the right hand side of the bed, as she did each morning. That bitter disappointment stung her again; John was away. Of course. She knew full well her husband would not be back for some time, but it did not get any easier to wake up to a cold bed each morning. It was September now. She had bid him farewell in early August, yet she still ached for him as though it had only been days. Though, that side of the bed was not entirely unoccupied.

"Good morning, Ebeneezer." Margaret yawned, reaching out to tickle the ginger cat's head. "Busy night?"

The cat stretched in response, standing up with an arched back before padding over to Margaret and settling on her stomach. She laughed; the animal had been awfully fond of her ever since her return from Spain. It was lovely, but a little out of character for one usually so independent.

"Excuse me, Sir." She nudged the cat with her free hand. "I need to get up."

There was a knock at the door; Margaret did not even have to open it to know it was Dixon, for the servant had been knocking in precisely the same pattern for her entire life.

"Come in!" Margaret called, trapped beneath the purring feline that lay curled on her stomach. "Dixon, would you mind prising the cat off me?"

"I'm not coming near." She huffed. "The mangy thing scratched me yesterday. I don't know how you can stand having him lie all over your bed, Mistress. We'll be overrun with fleas by Christmas, mark my words!"

"He is not mangy!" Margaret said, sitting up and shuffling back so the cat was displaced slightly. "He is lovely. He's been the most marvellous bedfellow in John's absence. Ebeneezer does not snore."

She heard Dixon chuckle a little at that.

"Hmm, I'll take your word for that. Come on, Mistress, time to get up."

Dixon pulled the curtains back, and Margaret winced against the bright September light. She felt incredibly tired, as though a heavy stone sat on each of her shoulders. Even her fingertips felt tired. When she finally pushed the cat off onto the empty side of the bed and stood up, she felt as though someone was spinning her around most vigorously. She reached out to grasp the bedpost, steadying herself as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Are you alright, Mistress?" Dixon asked, rushing forward and looping an arm around Margaret's waist.

"Yes, yes I am fine. I got up too quickly, that is all." She took a deep, steadying breath. It did nothing to help. She opened her eyes. "I - I do not feel well."

Dixon felt Margaret's forehead with the back of her hand. Margaret waited as Dixon poked and prodded at her, her hands at either side of Margaret's neck as she made a full assessment. When it was completed, Dixon clicked her tongue.

"You do feel hot. Get back into bed, Mistress Margaret. You look mighty pale, now I've got a proper look at you."

Margaret shook her head, stepping forward out of Dixon's grasp. There was far too much to be done in the school room. She had also promised John that she would speak to Nicholas every month, to get a truthful measure of what was going on in the mill. Whatever this feeling was, it would surely pass.

"I have school today." Margaret shook her head. "And I promised John that I would-"

Dixon clucked. Though she was a servant, she had no hesitation in bossing Margaret around. Sometimes, Margaret could not stand it. Today - she was glad of it.

"Miss Williams will get on fine without you. The master wouldn't want you sickening while he's gone."

"I -" Before she could protest, bile rose in her throat. She ran to the basin John used to shave and spat it out, her stomach heaving. She clung to the porcelain so tightly her knuckles turned white, desperately trying to swallow the feeling away.

It did not work.

When she had finished, shaking and sweating profusely, Dixon rubbed her back and helped her back into bed.

"You'll stay here and rest, Mistress." Dixon said firmly, pulling back the covers and helping Margaret in. "And if Mrs Thornton has anything to say about it, she can deal with me."

"Dixon." Margaret croaked, a small smile on her face despite how awful she felt. "What would I do without you?"

"No need to worry about that. I'll fetch you some water."

Margaret did not speak, merely lying down and closing her eyes. She willed this feeling to go away; she could not catch an illness when John was away, he would surely drive himself to madness with worry should he hear of it. When Dixon returned, Margaret mercifully felt a little better. She sat up and accepted the water, drinking it slowly.

"Thank you, Dixon. I feel much better." Margaret said, placing the glass down and closing her eyes as she rested against the pillows. Though she enjoyed sleep, she did not enjoy idleness. However, she did not wish to be ill while John was away; she would never hear the end of it when he returned.

"Your mother was just the same when she was expecting." Dixon said with a smile in her voice, fussing with Margaret's pillows.

Blood rushed in Margaret's ears.

"What?" Margaret asked, her mouth dry as she opened her eyes.

"I don't wish to talk out of turn-"

"I am not expecting!" Margaret said, though her heart hammered against her chest at the mere thought of it.

"Mistress, I thought you were hiding it from me. You did not have your course last month." Dixon said in a near whisper.

Though every woman bled, it was never discussed. Margaret felt her cheeks flame at the mention of it, her chest burning as she considered the fact that maybe, just maybe - she was expecting.

"Yes I did! It was-" Margaret ran through when she had last bled in her head. When that did not make sense, she counted on her fingers. "No, no, that was when we were in Spain. You're right. I - I didn't even notice. How did I not notice?"

It seemed absurd that she might have missed this sign. For months, she had tracked her monthlies closely yet she had given up doing it so meticulously. It was easy to lose track when she was busy, and monitoring it so steadfastly only served to make her disappointment greater. Perhaps that was it; she had stopped worrying so obsessively, and had lost track altogether.

"You've been busy, Mistress. Your sister-in-law would have proved a distraction, I am not surprised you lost track of time with so much happiness about. Do you want me to call for Doctor Donaldson?"

"No." Margaret said sharply. "No. I want to wait, just a little longer. To be sure. I could not bear it if I was mistaken, if I was not- No. Please, do not tell anyone."

"Of course, Mistress. I'll not tell a soul." Dixon smiled, reaching out and stroking Margaret's cheek as she had done when Margaret was a girl. "God bless you, Miss Margaret."

Margaret felt her eyes grow misty; of course, she had not been 'Miss' Margaret for some time now, but the tender sentiment behind her faithful servant's words struck her heart.

"Thank you, Dixon. Please, tell Mrs Thornton if she asks that I have a headache or some such complaint. Do not go into details. I do not wish for her to know, not before John is home."

"Yes, Mistress. I'll get rid of this for you. Use the chamberpot if you still feel unwell."

"Thank you, Dixon."

As the door clicked closed, Margaret closed her eyes. She could not get her hopes up too high; they would only be dashed should her course come. And yet - she felt different. She lifted her nightgown, pressing her fingers to her bare stomach. It felt no different. She pressed her hand flat against her belly.

"Please." She whispered to nobody. "Please."

The sickness and fatigue did not leave Margaret for several days. She sent word to Emma that she was unable to teach due to a cold, and received a message back that she was not to worry about a thing. Margaret felt more lonely in those few days than she had done in her whole life; without John to share her secret with, and no mother to advise her, it felt a very scary thing to face alone.

On the fourth day, Sunday, Margaret finally felt well enough to leave the house. She attended church as she always did, Dixon accompanying her and holding her arm rather more tightly than usual. On her return, Mrs Thornton caught her trying to sneak past the drawing room door.

"Margaret?" Hannah called out.

Margaret stopped as she placed one foot into the stairs; she should have known she could not avoid the elder Mrs Thornton forever. Indeed, on the rare occasions she had left her bedroom the past few days, she had run as quickly as possible from room to room to avoid her mother-in-law. It was childish, but she did not wish to discuss it whilst feeling so wretched.

"Yes, Hannah?" Margaret asked, resigning herself to the fact she could no longer avoid her mother-in-law.

"Would you come in for a moment?"

Hannah sat at the dining table, paperwork spread in front of her. She would be doing the household accounts, as she did every week. Margaret walked in and sat opposite her, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

"Dixon tells me you have been unwell." Hannah did not look up from her work, crossing lines through something. "I have been hoping to catch you, for she will not allow me anywhere near you."

"Yes." Margaret said, shifting in her chair. Her back throbbed in protest against being pinned into place by the chair's rigid frame and she could not get comfortable. "I feel a little better now."

"Good." Mrs Thornton nodded. She looked up from her work, and Margaret knew that there was no use hiding her secret. "Margaret, if you ever - if you ever need to speak with me about anything. If you need advice-"

Margaret wondered if perhaps she looked different; from the way Hannah's eyes kept drifting to Margaret's midsection, there was no doubting that she knew. Hannah was trying to be kind, offering Margaret support when her husband was so far away. It would not do to reject it outright.

"No. I am fine now, I promise you." Margaret said quickly. "I - Hannah, if you suspect what I think you suspect, might we refrain from discussing it until I have had a chance to tell John?"

"Very well." Hannah nodded. "But should you need help with anything at all, tell me. I know John would not want you to feel you are alone in this."

"I agree. And while I thank you for your offer of help most sincerely it just - it just feels wrong to tell other people when he is not here."

"Have you not written to him?" Hannah raised an eyebrow. "He would want to know."

"I have tried." Margaret said, twisting her fingers in guilt. "A dozen letters, screwed up in the fireplace of our study. The words did not come. In the end I ran out of paper and sent him the most messy letter full of corrections and crossing out. He will think me most strange for sending such a scrappy piece of news to him."

Hannah's lips quirked upwards, just slightly. Margaret saw so much of John in her. She wondered if the child she prayed was inside her would resemble the Thorntons as strongly. She hoped so. John was a most handsome man but it was more than that - Margaret had come to admire their careful nature, their secret humour hidden beneath the surface. Fanny was surely a changeling, for she carried very little of her mother and brother in her.

"Very well. I'll make sure your secret stays safe until he returns. He'll be that happy, I'm certain he'll jump for joy."

"I am sure. We both wished for this very much." Magraret said, her voice soft thinking of just how much she had longed for a child.

"I am pleased for you." Hannah said with a small smile. "Whenever you decide to tell me properly, I shall be happy for you."

Perhaps she did not need to be so coy; Hannah Thornton could be trusted implicitly. If Fanny were here, things would be different. John would not be so cross if his beloved mother found out before him; after all, it could not be helped. Margaret was sure he would rather she were not completely alone in this.

"I think you will make a fine grandmother." Margaret said, daring to say the words aloud. "Again."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Mrs Thornton did not look up from her work, though she reached out across the paper strewn table and briefly patted Margaret's hand. "Anything you need, Margaret."

The early stage of the pregnancy was not an easy time for Margaret. She could barely eat for weeks, so overcome by nausea and fatigue that even getting out of bed felt like an impossible task. Hannah coaxed her to at least eat something, bread or broth, but there was little she could tolerate. She slept restlessly each night, the little sleep she managed disturbed by the most vivid dreams she had ever had. Dreams of John, angry that she had not told him. Dreams of dying, of leaving her husband and child alone. She woke up each night in a sweat, tears rolling down her face.0

After much coaxing from both Hannah and Dixon, Margaret agreed to call for Doctor Donaldson in early October. A quick examination confirmed that she was, indeed, expecting a child.

Having her greatest hopes confirmed lifted her spirits, though she still missed her husband bitterly. It had not been an easy thing to feel so unwell while also carrying an almost overwhelming guilt at keeping such an important secret from him. That night, she sat down at her desk and wrote the shortest letter of her life - surely it would be a waste of money to even post it, but she felt she could not rest until it was sent.

_John,_

_I need you. Come home._

_M_

* * *

Margaret hoped that John would be home soon. A letter from him had arrived that morning, dated from the day before. Margaret was amazed it had arrived so quickly, but she was glad of it. He was back in England, staying overnight in London, and he would be home any time now. His mother was eager to see him, Margaret knew, but had excused herself to visit Fanny. There was something important Magraret had to tell John, and she needed to be alone with him. She was grateful to her mother-in-law for the space she had given them, without Margaret having to ask.

Her heart raced, and her feet would not stay still. Her hands could not remain idle, they had to be kept busy at all times. She had conducted the day's lessons as usual, and then she had cleaned the school room as much as she could in the dimming light, written four letters, rearranged John's books alphabetically, tidied her own side of the desk, refilled all the ink pots in the house, plumped all the cushions twice - and still she could not rest.

She was sitting in their study drumming her fingers against the wood of the desk when she heard the front door slam shut. She looked up, startled by the sudden noise. Nobody else would close a door so heavily. Her heart was in her mouth as she heard John call out for her.

"I am in the study." She called, pulling herself up and smoothing her dress. She wondered if she would look different to him; plumper, perhaps. Three months had passed since she had last seen him, and there was no denying that her body had changed.

"Margaret." He opened the door and practically ran to her with his arms outstretched, holding her close and peppering her hair with kisses.

He felt cold against her; his coat, which he had not had bothered to remove in his urgency to see her, was damp from the driving rain that had not abated all week. His chin was stubbled as he rubbed it against her forehead, as though he were a cat greeting his owner. He smelt like smoke and soap, and she breathed him in. She kissed his neck, circling her arms tightly around his waist and reaching up to kiss his chin. In his urgency to see her, he had not even removed his hat.

She reached up and took it off for him, setting it on the desk beside them. His hair had grown longer, and he looked rather unkempt as several days of stubble had settled on his chin. It was somewhat funny to see a man so regimented look even just a little scruffy.

"I am so pleased you are back." Margaret said into his neck, clinging onto him as she stood on tiptoes. "I have read stories in the newspaper of how rough the Channel has been this past week, I was terrified you would not come back to me."

"I'll always come back to you." John murmured, kissing her firmly. He pulled back, his hands stroking at her cheeks. "I'm sorry for worrying you. The seas were rough, but I'm home now."

"I am so glad you are back safely." Margaret smiled. "Oh, I have missed you. These past months have been near unbearable without you."

"I've missed you something fierce, Maggie." He told her, touching his cold nose to hers. "You look more beautiful than ever. Let me take you to bed."

Margaret almost laughed; he wasted no time in his seduction. However much she had dreamed of his touch these past few months, common sense overrode the desire for him that she could already feel building in every inch of her body. It was early, and his mother would be desperate to see him at dinner when she returned. It would not do to come down for dinner with wild hair and red faced complexions. Besides, there was something more pressing to discuss.

"John, I need to tell you something." Margaret said, the words almost swallowed as he peppered her face and neck with kisses.

She pushed him gently back, breaking contact with his mouth. Still, it did not deter his gentle pawing at her body.

"Can't it wait?" He asked, his fingers already playing with the buttons down the back of her dress. "It's been three months."

"John I-"

She sighed breathlessly as his hand came to settle on her breast, though he squeezed too hard and she yelped in pain. He stepped back immediately. His face

twisted with guilt, visibly surprised at such a reaction when that was how he had always touched her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Perhaps I am a little over eager after so long away." He apologised, his fingers stroking the curls that hung on her forehead.

His touch was soft and tender now, and it melted her heart. Oh, she was so glad to have him back.

"John, I need to speak with you." She straightened herself. "But not here. Come, upstairs."

He followed her, and as she turned her head to look at him he looked almost white with panic. What did he think she was about to tell him?! That the mill had collapsed, and nobody thought to write to him? She almost laughed.

She held the door to their bedroom open for him, ushering him in and closing it behind them. She gestured for him to sit on the bed, which he did so with a look of utter confusion at his wife's somewhat erratic behaviour.

"Margaret, enough. What has happened?"

"I-" Margaret had thought about how she would tell him, but now the time had come, she could not find the words. "John I-"

The words died on her tongue, swallowed by the anxiety she felt in the pit of her stomach. The words would not come, and his face grew increasingly tight as she kept him waiting. Still, she could not speak.

"Damn it Margaret, what is going on?" He spat, his hands tense by his side. "What has happened, woman?"

"It is good news, it is good!" She said quickly, his sharp tone irritating her. "Hold your tongue, do not call me woman!"

John exhaled, rubbing at his temples as he muttered an apology. Margaret could not stand still, and she realised she had been pacing backwards and forwards. Little wonder he was so alarmed! She stilled herself, standing before him with her hands clasped tightly together. Still, she could not speak.

"You are scaring the life out of me, whatever's happened while I've been gone - just tell me!" John looked at her with a heavy expression, his eyes fixed on her face. Margaret smiled, readying herself for what she had to tell him.

"I-" She sat beside him and took his hand in hers. She took a deep breath, and guided it to her belly. "I'm expecting a baby."

"What?" He said, staring down at their entwined hands. "Are you sure?"

"Doctor Donaldson examined me two weeks ago, though I have had my suspicions for some time. I wanted to be absolutely sure before I contacted him. I could not bear to be told I was not. I have missed my courses these past three months, and I have never even missed one before. I feel quite terribly sick constantly, and I feel as though I have not slept in months. He is fairly certain." She said with a smile.

John did not say anything in response to her rapid explanation. He merely stared down at his wife's stomach in dumbstruck silence, his mouth hanging slightly open. Margaret felt a tear slip from her eye, and she brushed it away.

"Are you pleased?" She asked after several silent minutes had passed.

"Pleased? I'm overjoyed. Overwhelmed." His voice was soft as his fingers stroked at the boning of her corset, as if trying to bury through to her bare skin. "Do you think it happened that last night in Spain?"

Margaret flushed at the memory of it. She had thought of that night constantly; she counted it as one of the most perfect evenings they had ever shared.

"It could have been. Though, I do believe we could hardly keep our hands off one another for the entire time we were there, so who knows."

"That trip did us good then." John nuzzled her hair. "I had no idea I would come home to such news. Your last letter had me worried, I'll confess it."

"I'm sorry for worrying you. My spirits have been low, I must admit. It has not been easy without you. Now you are home and I can tell you our blessed news - oh John I am so happy." Margaret whispered. "I thought it would never happen. I did not know how to write it down. I needed to see you, I hope you are not cross."

"Have you told anyone?"

Margaret nodded; though she had not wished to tell anyone before her husband, it could not have been helped. She did not live alone, and there was only so much one could hide from a nosy servant and a mother-in-law with eyes like a hawk.

"Dixon knows, of course. In fact, she told me - I had been so busy I did not realise I missed my course and then I was terribly sick. In truth, my body has swollen so much in the last few weeks that even if I had known before her, Dixon would have to be blind not to realise. It has been a chore to fasten my dresses, she's had to tug hard just to meet it in the middle. She promised to keep it secret; she knew I wanted to tell you first. I have not been eating much, your mother has been watching me like a hawk. She knows, but agreed not to talk to me about it until I had told you."

"Are you well?" John interrupted her, visibly alarmed by the news of her loss of appetite and sickness. He clasped her hands in his. "You must eat something, Maggie. You'll sicken."

"I try, but there is hardly anything I can keep down. Strawberries. I dream of strawberries, but it is November!" Margaret laughed. "I also find myself practically existing on bread. It is the only thing that does not make me sick, in small quantities."

"I shall build you a bakery. I love you." John enthused, nudging her cheek with his nose. "I never could have guessed this is what I would come home to. Your brother sends his love; you shall have to write to him and tell him."

"Yes, I shall. How is Dolores?" Margaret said. "I have missed her company since they returned home."

Margaret had missed her sister-in-law greatly. Without her bubbling energy and seemingly endless joy and goodwill, Margaret had felt Milton and Marlborough Mills had somehow grown emptier. She wished that she had realised her condition while Dolores had still been there. It had been harder still to be without her husband once she had realised she was with child - but Margaret knew if Dolores had been here for longer, she could have shared her joy and excitement over the precious secret she carried.

"She cannot bend down, she has grown so large."

"That is no way to talk about an expectant mother!" Margaret said, trying not to laugh at the image of Dolores unable to see her toes just as she had feared. "That'll be me before too long. I think I am already growing bigger."

"Show me." John said. "Take off your dress."

"John!" Margaret said, swatting his hands away from the fastenings of her clothes. "It is not the time!"

"No, this isn't about that. I want to see you. I have missed three months of this already, let me see you."

"I shall never get this dress done up again!" Margaret protested.

In truth, though she had never been a vain person, she felt a little uncomfortable showing her new, changed body to her husband without the safety of his lust or darkness. The room was fully lit, and she would be exposed. Her body, despite the fact she had barely eaten, had grown plump and swollen with the child inside her already. It was a wonderful thing, and she thanked God in her prayers each day for it. Yet, selfishly, burningly selfishly, she could not help but worry that John would be displeased with her new, fuller figure.

"I'll help you. Please, Maggie."

His eyes, those pleading, almost ice blue eyes looked at her. Margaret nodded, turning for him to help her with the fastenings of her dress. He had not lost his touch; nimble fingers undid the tiny buttons quickly. She took off the dress and her petticoats below as he worked at the corset.

"This is too tight." He said irritably. "It can't be good for you, or the baby to be so tightly bound. Who laced you in this?"

Dixon had been feeling unwell that morning, and Martha had dressed Margaret. Perhaps it was a little tight.

"Doctor Donaldson said it is fine to wear this corset during the early stages. I have a new one, as well as several dresses, on order. Do not worry so, John."

Margaret stood in her chemise, feeling strangely anxious about what her husband would make of her figure. John had seen her bare body too many times to count, but this was different. She had changed already; her breasts swollen and tender, her once flat stomach beginning to protrude. She was sure her face had grown fatter, already rounded cheeks puffier. She was grateful for every change for each one was a sign of the child growing in her - yet she still feared he would not like what he saw.

John kneeled before her, his hands on the material of her shift just below her belly button.

"I can feel it, a little." He whispered, pressing his fingers down gently just bellow her belly button. "Just a tiny, tiny swell. Your stomach is hard, just here. Let me see."

Margaret lifted her shift and lowered her drawers a little so her stomach was bare. John gazed at it as though he were seeing straight through her. He was different, Margaret thought. Already softened by fatherhood. She could see his face relax, his shoulders slump. He traced his fingers over her belly, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the small, almost undetectable bulge that showed the evidence of the new life within her.

"You are not angry that I did not tell you? I tried to write a dozen letters, but I could not find the words."

He looked up at her from his position on the floor. His face looked perhaps a little shocked at this sudden, unexpected news, but not angry. His hair curled around his neck, his jaw shadowed in the dim light of the room. Margaret could not stop staring at him, for he was surely the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"You did the right thing. All I would have done was worry - and feel guilty for leaving you. I am home now, and I'll not be going away again. Not until you've had the baby. Maybe not even then."

"But you'll need to go back to Seville, to make sure-"

John shook his head.

"Fred will do it. I'm not leaving you, Margaret. I'd sooner see the mill collapse around me than be away from you for months again."

Margaret did not approve of joking of such things, but she felt a smile hopelessly tug at her lips. She did not deserve the love of this man; his eyes practically burned with it, the force of his adoration hitting her as though it were a physical force. She stepped backwards, sitting down on the bed. He rose from his knees to sit beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulder, the other coming to rest against her stomach. He cradled her against him as they sat side by side.

"Don't say such things, my darling. I am not ill, merely expecting. You do not need to stay close to me all the time, life will continue as it always has done."

"Aye, but I'll not go to Spain again. It is too far." John said. "Have you been teaching?"

"Of course." Margaret said. "I thought perhaps I would continue until about April. As long as I can stand comfortably."

"Is it right?" John asked. "Women do not usually-"

"I used to think the same, but I have come to realise that is rather silly. What am I supposed to do, get into bed and not get out until the baby is born? I will go insane! I need to be active. When my mind is distracted, I do not feel so unwell. Besides, plenty of your own workers work well into their time. I am surprised you've not had a baby born on the factory floor."

John did not respond to that, merely looking at her with a rather stern expression. He did not usually look at her with such hardness, and though she felt he meant to be intimidating, she could not help the giggle that rose in her throat.

"Promise me you will stop as soon as you feel differently." John said. "The very moment you feel you are not up to it, you come away. I will not have you making yourself ill, do you understand me?"

"John-"

"Margaret. I do not command you often, but you will listen to me on this."

Margaret frowned.

"You are not my master, husband."

"Margaret. Please. Do not fight this. As soon as you are uncomfortable, you hand the school to Miss Williams. Yes?"

"Fine." Margaret relented. "But I shall continue my work once the child is old enough."

"Margaret-"

"John." She countered, her eyes fixed in his. "I will continue my work."

"We'll see." John said. "Is Mother here?"

Margaret could have kissed him for changing the subject. She did not wish to argue about this, not when it was so far away and she was just so happy to have him home.

"She has gone to see Fanny. She will be back soon, she knew I needed to speak with you." Margaret said, disliking the sudden coldness that seemed to have settled between them. She reached out to touch his face, but he pulled away.

She frowned, and he caught her expression. He took her hand in his, kissing the skin of her wrist all the way to her bare elbow. She smiled, giggling as his stubble tickled the delicate skin of her inner arm.

"I need to wash, I am filthy from travelling." He looked at her again, his face softening as his lips quirked up. "We're having a baby."

"Yes." Margaret agreed. "A baby of our own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve!
> 
> This will be my last update for 2019 (I'm currently recovering from surgery I had last week that was meant to be in the new year but got moved forward literally with a day's notice, so my writing hasn't been top priority. I'm not ready to update within the next week realistically, it'll be mid January I think.) and I just want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your endless support on this story. I feel like this year has really seen me develop as a writer in so many ways - but mainly I have been writing so much more consistently and that is in no small part thanks to your wonderful feedback spurring me on. It's honestly made my life better to have a creative outlet and it's brought me more confidence than I've had in a long time.
> 
> I hope you have a wonderful "holiday season" as the Americans would say, however you celebrate (or not at all) and a happy, healthy, successful 2020.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

Two weeks had passed since John’s return home, and while Margaret was greatly relieved to have her husband back in his rightful place - both the mill and by her side - it would not be unreasonable to say he was driving her absolutely mad. 

He hovered over her constantly, peering into the schoolroom as he passed to make sure she was alright. That was a sweet gesture, at least for the first few days. As it continued, Margaret began to feel as though she was being spied on. 

He had stopped her going to the Princeton district several times, saying that it was not safe. She relented; there had been several cases of cholera reported lately, so perhaps he was just being cautious. 

Then, he shouted at some boys for jostling past and nudging Margaret. She had just been about to open her mouth to do the same when her husband’s overbearing boom rattled over her. She closed her eyes, praying to God to grant her some patience. Really, she had been walking rather slowly and they were only young.

From then, Margaret could hardly recall all the ways in which he had irritated her in the two weeks he had been back. It was endless, from stopping her carrying a pile of books to the study, to insisting she go to bed before everybody else. It made her feel incompetent and child-like - and she was neither.

Another problem was that he would not share her bed. Claiming that he would only disturb her and she needed uninterrupted rest, John had taken to sleeping in Fanny‘s old bedroom. At night, Margaret felt almost as alone as she had when he was away - though there was some comfort knowing he was only across the hallway, rather than the sea. 

As she did everyday, Margaret set the schoolroom straight after the session had ended, around an hour before the final whistle blew. Emma had offered to help, but Margaret always found doing these tasks alone allowed her mind to relax. It was remarkable what a mess children could create in just a few hours. Though they spent most of the time sitting down, at the end of each day the small school room always looked as if a heavy wind had blown through the room. 

The room also seemed to have become home to pests. Margaret had seen a mouse the previous week, though Ebeneezer had been summoned and no further rodents had been brave enough to show their faces. Spiders, however, seemed to creep into every corner, leaving large cobwebs in every nook and cranny. It was driving Margaret quite mad. As she stacked slates, she spotted a fresh one in the corner by the blackboard.

Muttering to herself, she dragged a chair over and picked up her broom. She swatted at the wispy strands, not quite close enough to bring it down. She leaned forward, one hand gripping the backboard as she balanced precariously on one foot.

“What the hell are you doing?” A voice startled her and she wobbled, frightened by the sudden harsh noise. 

She turned, seeing John rushing towards her. He was carrying a parcel, which he hastily put down on one of the tables. Stepping forward, he grabbed hold of Margaret’s elbow. 

“There’s a cobweb in the corner and I-”

“Get down. Christ, Margaret.”

“I am fine.” Margaret countered, frowning as she continued to reach for the cobweb with the broom. “I do this most days. It gets very dusty in here.”

“You’ll hurt yourself.” John said, holding her steady even though she was not unsteady. 

At least, she had not been until he had entered the room bellowing like a man unhinged. 

“I certainly shall if you insist on creeping behind me and shouting at me like that!”

“I came to see if you were finished for the day as it is getting late, you can’t be climbing on chairs in your condition!”

“I have been doing it for the past three months in your absence and I have been perfectly fine. Do not speak to me like I am a fool, John. I am hardly dangling off a building, it is a small chair.”

“Down.”

Margaret widened her eyes; she would certainly not be spoken to as though she were a naughty dog!

“No.”

“Margaret-”

“Stop it. I will get down when I have finished, and it shall take far longer if you keep distracting me.”

She screamed as she felt John tug at her waist and haul her over his shoulder as though she were a sack of grain, forcibly lifting her down and setting her onto the floor. She felt rage burn in her chest; how dare he?! Surely lifting her in such a way was more dangerous than standing on a chair in the first place!

“Excuse me!” Margaret said furiously as she pushed herself away from him, brushing down her skirts. “What do you think you are doing?!”

“You would not listen-”

“Because there was nothing to listen to! You are being ridiculous.” She thrust the broom in his direction, and he caught it before it could fall to the floor. “You get rid of it. I am going for a walk.”

“It is raining.”

Margaret paused in the doorway; it was indeed pouring with rain. It thundered down, landing in great puddles with splashes of water. 

“I have a hat.”

“Margaret-”

“John, if you tell me what to do one more time today, I am sorry but I shall snap that broom over your head. I will see you later, and I hope for your sake there are no cobwebs left in this room when I return.”

Seething, Margaret walked into the house to fetch her shawl and hat. She loathed being treated like she was made of glass. She was carrying a child, as millions of women had done since the dawn of time - she was not physically incapable. Truly, the child growing inside her was currently so small that it was barely visible that she was expecting at all. Margaret would go quite mad by the time the baby was born if she was treated in such a manner for the next six months.

“John?” Hannnah’s voice called out.

“No, it is Margaret.” Margaret said, her jaw clenched as she tried to calm herself down. “John has not finished work for the day.”

“Are you coming in, or am I to shout at you from the hallway?”

“I am going out.”

“Where? Dinner will not be long, it is already dark outside.”

“I don’t know, I just need to stretch my legs.”

Hannah walked into the hallway. She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing as she took in Margaret’s expression. 

“What’s he done?”

“Pardon?”

“John, he’s done something that displeased you, hasn’t he?”

“What makes you think that?” Margaret asked, fastening her coat and frowning when she could not quite get the buttons to meet in the middle. Another coat would have to be purchased, another chore. Another reminder of how much her body was changing.

“I remember my time carrying children well. There is nothing quite so irritating as a husband.”

Margaret gasped, for this humour was so unlike her mother in law. Then, for she could not help it, she laughed.

“I was on a chair cleaning a cobweb from the corner of the ceiling. He came in and actually had the gall to lift me off the chair when I refused to get down.”

Hannah beckoned her into the sitting room with a nod of her head. Feeling like a child about to get a telling off from a strict schoolmarm, Margaret sighed. She removed her outside clothes, taking her time in hanging them up. Eventually, when she could not avoid it any longer, she went into the sitting room to speak with her mother-in-law.

Hannah was sitting in her chair, a pile of mending beside her. Margaret took a seat on the settee, hands folded in her lap. Hanah resumed her sewing, eyes focused on her work and not looking at Margaret. Margaret knew Hannah’s eyesight was deteriorating, and she was sure that her mother-in-law was sitting closer to the lamp than she normally did.

“He’s nervous, Margaret. He loves you a great deal, you know that. I’d even say he’s scared; I heard him scratching around down here in the middle of the night yesterday. He cannot sleep when he’s thinking too much, you must know that about him by now.”

“There is no need for him to be concerned. I had a little sickness but you know that passed weeks ago.”

Hannah was silent for a few moments, though her hand continued stitching. Margaret said nothing, knowing whatever Hannah had to say would come soon enough. 

“You saw Fanny, you know how Dolores suffered with her first. Child bearing is no easy task, and he’s not a fool. He’s come back from three months away with no idea, and now he has all this to get his head around.”

“Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed.” Hannah countered. “He already worries something should happen to the mill again and he’ll not be able to provide for you and I, now he has a child to think of too. John has a solid head on his shoulders, but he worries. I’ve seen it in his eyes a great many times, ever since he was a child. Be gentle with him.”

“I know he worries. I know he loves me but you must understand - I cannot stand being treated like a doll. I want to continue as I always have done, without my husband scaring me half to death creeping up on me to tell me off like a disobedient child!”

“Margaret.” John’s voice called out to her as the front door closed. “Are you here?”

“Aye, she’s in here.” Hannah stood, looking pointedly at Margaret. “Sort this out, but keep a civil tongue in your head. You’re both as stubborn as each other. Marriage has softened the pair of you, but you were bound to argue again.”

Before Margaret could utter a word in her defence, Hannah swept out of the room with her mending piled in her arms, past her son and up the stairs.

“I thought you were going out.”

“My coat would not button.” Margaret said, chin raised. “Am I allowed to sit down in here, or would you prefer I lie in total darkness until the baby is born?”

“Don’t be so bloody stupid.” He muttered, sitting down beside her and rubbing at his forehead. “I cleared your cobwebs. I even swept the floor.”

“Thank you.” Margaret said stiffly. “I was going to do that.”

“You’re no scullery maid, Margaret.”

“I am quite capable of sweeping the floor! John, I am perfectly well.”

“Aye, for now. What if you fall, or catch an illness from a child? I’ve seen them in the winter, all runny noses and coughing.”

“I could just as easily catch a cold at church, or from you! You would have me locked in a tower?”

“No. I’m not arguing about this, Maggie. I don’t like it.”

“Nothing has happened! I’ll not give it up, John. It gives me a purpose.”

“And is bringing a healthy child into this world not purpose enough? Promise me you’ll not climb on chairs again, at least.”

“Fine.” Margaret relented. “I will have Emma do it instead. Is that satisfactory?”

“For now.” John nodded. “I don’t like arguing with you. I spend all my days negotiating, I do not wish to do it with my wife.”

“Then trust I know what I am doing! All my longing for a child, you think I would do anything to harm the beloved life inside me?”

“No. No, I know you would not.” He leaned forwards, his head in his hands. He spoke without moving, his words muffled. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I don’t want to cage you.”

“You’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. Things are changing, John. I know we both wished for it but perhaps the reality is a little more frightening than the fantasy.”

“I got you a present.” John said after a while. “That’s why I was coming to see you, it arrived today.”

“Oh?”

John handed her a box. It was addressed to John, and was rather heavy. She frowned as she peeled back the brown paper and opened the package itself.

Inside, three jars, carefully wrapped. Margaret took one out. Through the glass, Margaret could see that enclosed within was a rich, dark red substance. She looked up at John.

“Jam?” Margaret frowned in confusion. “You got me jam?”

“You said you were craving strawberries. This is the best I could do given the lateness of the year. It is meant to be the finest jam in the country - the queen herself eats it.” John explained, his brow creasing. “I’m sorry, I thought you would like it.”

“Oh John!” Margaret laughed. She leaned forward and kissed him before moving back to look at her treasure. “Would you judge me terribly if I ate it with a spoon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a very happy new year. Thanks for the well wishes - after a rough few weeks I'm finally feeling better. I'll be back with a longer chapter in a couple of weeks.


	40. Chapter Forty

Coming to London had been a mistake. She and John had travelled down the day before, expecting Edith to arrive at a similar time. However, the spring seas had proved rough and Aunt Shaw told them the family's journey had been delayed by several days. And so, the party that had been arranged to welcome Edith home went ahead without the guest of honour - Aunt Shaw had arranged too much, she said, to delay it any further. Margaret sat in a corner, observing the room as she had always done at parties such as these. However, it was not merely boredom that had her sitting down out of the way.

Margaret felt enormous. She was in her seventh month of pregnancy, her stomach already vastly swollen and stretched. Her skin itched constantly, her usual clothes were now far too tight to be comfortable yet the clothes she had ordered to see her through her pregnancy felt ugly and matronly. Her face had swollen, along with her ankles. Her fingers were so puffy she had had to remove her wedding and engagement rings, lest they become permanently stuck and painful. She felt grotesque and miserable, stuffed into a gown she had borrowed from Fanny that was not to her taste.

Matters were not helped by the fact that there was a beautiful young woman across the room, laughing and touching the arm of a handsome man.

That handsome man just happened to be Margaret's husband.

The young woman was one Miss Elizabeth Grant, Aunt Shaw had told Margaret earlier that evening. She was seventeen, come from Wiltshire to London for the season with her mother and brother. Her mother was an old friend of Aunt Shaw's who rarely came to the city, apparently. The lovely creature talking to her husband was tall, with a strikingly handsome figure clad in a rich navy gown cut off the shoulder. Her hair was a glossy brown, piled in a stylish fashion high on her head. Her eyes were a bright blue - Margaret was sure she could see them sparkle even from this distance, and she wore a fashionable gown in a similar shade. She was slim and young and beautiful.

Margaret shifted in her seat, more aware than ever of her current condition. Of course she was almost deliriously happy to be awaiting the arrival of her first child. Of course she knew that her body would not remain in this state forever. Yet it did not make it any easier to see her husband engaged in conversation with someone so utterly bewitching.

"Are you alright, Margaret?" Anne was by her side. "You do not look well."

"I am quite well." Margaret shifted again. "It is my back, that is all. It is not so easy carrying around such weight all day, and the baby does rather press on me."

Anne smiled, and Margaret's eyes were drawn to her stomach. Anne had announced she was expecting a baby in the autumn that very afternoon. She was far smaller than Margaret, only around three months into her time. Her stomach looked to be as flat as it had ever been, but she had an undeniable glow about her that Margaret envied greatly.

"I shall see for myself before long. Come, Margaret, would you care to take some air? Or perhaps rest?"

"I am quite well." Margaret repeated, her eyes moving back to John. "It would not do to leave so soon, I am sure."

"Your aunt would understand. She is so busy talking to her guests that I doubt she would notice. You do not enjoy parties like this, I think." Anne was not being cruel - there was real warmth and kindness in her voice.

"No. I never have." Margaret explained. She winced as her back throbbed, winded all of a sudden. She felt so breathless all of the time. "Even less now I am so uncomfortable."

"It shall all be worth it when you have a lovely baby to cherish. I do hope our children can play together one day when they are old enough. Here, or when we come to Milton to visit."

"How lovely." Margaret smiled. "I cannot imagine having a child old enough to play. I can scarcely imagine what things will be like when this one is here."

"I am sure you will make a fine mother. And Mr Thornton a good father, of course. Oh Margaret, are you sure I cannot tempt you to go and rest? I do not wish to be unkind but you look exhausted."

"You are right. I am exhausted." Margaret admitted, her eyes still on her husband.

Miss Grant had him backed into a corner, her brother by her side, as they engaged in a conversation that Margaret could not hear. Margaret was too far away and the room too loud with chatter to hear what was being said. John laughed; a real laugh, one that reached all the way to his eyes. Margaret felt an ugly stab jealousy.

"Perhaps I will retire." Margaret relented. She heaved herself up, resting her weight on the arms of the chair. Anne took her arm, and Margaret was grateful for the assistance. "I shall find my aunt and make my excuses."

The pair found Aunt Shaw, and Margaret wished her a good night. Anne kept a firm hold of Margaret's arm as the two of them slipped up the stairs without stopping to tell John where she was going. Anne wished Margaret a good night, before Margaret found Dixon in her room unpacking the rest of their things. Once in her nightgown, she sat down heavily at the vanity table in the room and dismissed Dixon for the night.

She looked at herself in the mirror as she ran her hairbrush up and down, one hundred times each night as she had done since she was a girl. She should not be so unsettled by her appearance, but she scarcely recognised herself. Her face was even more rounded than usual, her eyes red and watery with fatigue. Her hair was thicker than it had been previously, and the brush got stuck a few times. Everything felt different. It was frustrating.

The door opened and Margaret glanced up. It was John, his face tight and expressionless. When he saw her sitting at the vanity table, his shoulders slumped and his brow relaxed.

"Here you are." John said, relieved at the sight of her. "I couldn't find you downstairs. Anne said you are not feeling well."

"I was a little tired." Margaret said. "I asked Dixon to help me get ready for bed. My back is hurting again."

John frowned.

"You should have told me, I would have come up with you. I don't like you being alone when you aren't feeling well."

"You seemed to be occupied." Margaret shrugged as she brushed out her hair. "I did not like to disturb you."

"Occupied?" John frowned. "You know I would take any chance to be rescued from all these fine Southern ladies and gentlemen with all their poorly hidden snobbery. They talk to me pleasantly enough but I see it in their eyes they all think me quite the savage."

"Even Miss Grant?" Margaret asked lightly, setting down her brush.

She placed her hands on either side of the dressing table, pushing herself up with some difficulty for the stool was too low. Before she could rise an inch, John rushed to her side and helped her up. One hand supported her lower back, the other coming to rest on the bump of her stomach.

"Careful, love."

He walked slowly with her to the bed, his hand rubbing small circles on the small of her back. He was so gentle, so fiercely protective of her. She felt a surge of guilt for her jealousy - as though he would ever look at another woman!

"Thank you." Margaret said as he helped her into bed. He placed the covers over her, and helped her get comfortable as she arranged herself on the pillows. The care he took with her softened the angry fire in her chest. "Thank you, John."

"You looked very lovely this evening, Maggie." John smiled, sitting on the bed next to her. His hands stroked at her long hair, loose and trailing over her shoulders, the ends curling over her belly. He placed his palm flat against the swell of their child, as he often did when they were alone. "So lovely."

"I feel like a cow." Margaret said, shifting so his hand was not on her. "Enormous and ungainly."

"'Never." John said, rubbing his cheek against hers. "Love, you have never looked more wonderful than you do when you are carrying our child. It suits you."

"What were you talking to Miss Grant about?" Margaret asked lightly, shifting herself to be more comfortable.

John looked up from her belly at the sudden change of topic.

"I was talking to her brother about the best trade routes from Africa through Europe. He runs an estate in Wiltshire that exports goods." John said, frowning in confusion at his wife's enquires. "I did not speak much to Miss Grant."

"She looked to be enjoying your company, that is all."

_She would not stop touching your arm._

The words went unsaid.

Margaret winced as a sharp pain shot from her stomach to her pelvis. It had been happening for weeks, and Doctor Donaldson had reassured her it was nothing to worry about. It hurt greatly, and caught her by surprise every time. John caught her eye, and she shook her head.

"I didn't notice." John stood and began to undress. He paused, looking at her carefully as she winced again. "Are you sure you feel alright? Do you need a doctor?"

"I am fine!" Margaret said sharply. "I am sick of everybody asking me that! It is all anyone has asked me for the past three months since they found out and I have had enough!"

"There's no need to snap at me." John said, his own voice low and defensive. "I was merely asking if you are well."

"I already told you that I am. Am I not to be trusted to know my own body?" Margaret asked.

"Why are you being like this?" John retorted. "Why are you speaking to me so harshly when I am only worried about you?"

"I am not being like anything!" Margaret protested. "I am tired of everyone thinking I am incapable of making any decisions merely because I am carrying a child. I am expecting, not a fool."

"I never said you were a fool." John frowned. "Maggie, what's going on?"

"Nothing!"

"You are not yourself." John tried to take her hand, but she snatched it from his reach. His voice was exasperated, his face wide eyed at her uncharacteristic aggressiveness. "Margaret!"

"I am tired."

He sat down beside her on the bed, stroking her face with his fingertips. Margaret tried not to flinch at his touch, for it felt tickly and itchy.

"Then rest. It's been a long day, a long journey. Perhaps it was not wise to travel when you are so-"

Margaret's head snapped up.

"So what? So big? So large and useless that I cannot even rise from a chair unaided?!"

John stood, continuing to undress as he muttered under his breath before raising his voice to a level Margaret could hear. It was still low, as though it was taking every ounce of his self control not to shout at her.

"Margaret, stop it. I was going to say so uncomfortable. Do not talk about yourself like that." John told her.

"It is how I feel. I feel enormous, and ugly." She swallowed heavily, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

"You are neither."

"You have not touched me for weeks. Months." Margaret whispered, tears finally pooling in her eyes. "I repulse you."

"Have you gone mad?" John asked, though his tone was soft rather than accusatory. "I haven't touched you in - in that way because I am scared I will harm the baby. You really think I do not want you? That I do not miss you wildly?"

"You smiled at her."

"What?" John asked, visibly baffled.

"Miss Grant. You smiled at her. She made you laugh. She touched your arm."

John exhaled sharply, his forefinger and thumb rubbing at his temples. His shoulders sagged as he realised the root of his wife's bad mood.

"I was talking to her and her brother about trade. It seems she takes an interest in their family estate, that is all. She made some joke about something or other, it amused me. She touched my arm and I moved away. I do not know if she knows I am married, but I think the girl had too much wine and lost her decorum. I was talking to her brother, I wasn't even looki- Maggie, is that what all this is about? Are you - are you _jealous_?!"

The words fell from him with utter disbelief - as if it were impossible for her to be jealous of anything he did. That somehow made her angrier.

"Would you not be, if a handsome young man made me laugh?" Margaret asked, her fists clenching defensively. "If a man even looked at me in the way she looked at you, I do not think you would be pleased."

"Aye, I'd be jealous." John admitted freely. His words were sharp, his temper fraying as he desperately tried to contain himself. "But I would not start a petty fight with you over it, we're better than that now. We have been married for almost two years, you're carrying my bloody baby as we speak. You think me capable of betraying you? You think I would even think of another woman in a dishonourable way? I would never break our vows, _never_. It is you. Only you. Do you not know that by now?"

"I do." Margaret said, shamefaced. "I know. I just - I can not control my emotions. One moment I am overjoyed, the next cast down with sadness so enormous I feel I might drown in it. This baby is making me take leave of all my senses."

He covered her stomach with large, splayed hands. He was so tender, so loving that it made her ache with regret for speaking so harshly to him. She felt like she could weep.

"Mother warned me to be gentle with you. We shouldn't have come, it's too much for you."

"Thank your mother for her advice, but I do not wish to be treated any differently. I am fine. We will stay as planned." Margaret said firmly.

Had John and his mother been discussing her behind her back? It riled her even more; she was not sick, nor was she infirm. She did not need to be talked about like some sort of patient, nor did she need to be treated "gently".

"Are you quite sure?" John asked. "I'll take you home tomorrow if you just ask me to."

"No." Margaret shook her head. "No, Edith is coming home any day now and I want to see her and the new little one. She will not forgive me if I leave without seeing her. You have meetings, you have things to do here."

"Your health is more important. Maggie, please."

"I am well. I have two, perhaps almost three more months left of this, John. You can't keep me penned in. I may look like a cow, but I shall not be treated like one."

John stood, grunting in frustration as he removed the burgundy cravat tied around his neck. He began to unbutton his waistcoat, but stopped and looked at his wife.

"I don't wish to trap you, Maggie. I wish to keep you safe because I love you. Your good health and the health of the little one matter to me more than anything. And for the last bloody time, you do _not_ look like a cow."

Margaret opened her mouth to reply when she felt a firm kick to her belly. She had been feeling the baby move for weeks, tiny pops and bubbles that were undetectable to John. Those small sensations had turned into flutters and kicks, yet he had still not managed to feel their baby move within her. She quickly pulled on the material of her nightgown, pushed the covers back and grabbed her husband's hand. She planted it on the bare skin of her stomach.

"Feel. He is kicking."

John stared intently at her rounded stomach, his hand pressing firmly against her skin. They waited in silence for several minutes. Finally, Margaret felt it again - so strongly that John could not fail to feel it. John's face broke out in a slow, broad grin.

"Our child doesn't like us bickering." He said softy. "He's telling us off. Or she, of course."

John had been careful these past few months to never only say "he" - Margaret knew he wished for a boy, but a girl would not be unwelcome either. After all, this would be their first child, there would be others. Margaret, however, hoped for a boy - not only because she would like a son, but it would mean there would be no great rush for the next pregnancy. A terrible thing to voice out loud, but an easy thought when one felt so miserable.

"I think it will be a boy." Margaret said. "I just have a feeling."

"I will be happy with either." John said, leaning down to kiss her stomach. "As long as you're both healthy."

"Of course, I pray for that." Margaret sighed, her hands stroking over his. "I am sorry, John."

"I am sorry too. I know this isn't easy for you, darling. If I could take some of it from you, if I could ease your suffering-"

"I cannot keep my temper down." Margaret said. "Everything makes me angry, or makes me cry. Or both. I am quite without my senses and the worst part is I know full well how unreasonable I am being."

"You were right though, Miss Grant did touch my arm. If I saw a man do that to you-"

Margaret laughed, the sound hollow even to her own ears.

"You need not worry, John. I doubt any man would look twice at me, especially now."

Her husband grunted from his place at her feet. She looked at him, and she was struck by the tenderness in his face. She had seen him look at her adoringly, plenty of times. This was different. She could scarcely breathe.

"You really do not know how lovely you look, do you? Your eyes sparkle, your lips are plumper, your face is shining. I know you do not feel it, but you are as beautiful as ever. Gorgeous."

"Gorgeous?" Margaret asked with a laugh. "Oh John. I do not deserve your tenderness. I am a monster."

"You deserve it more than ever. I know it is not easy carrying a child, and I know you have been suffering with your back."

"It will be worth it. You must think me terribly ungrateful - after all the tears I shed in my longing for a child, now I am shedding them because I am expecting! It does not make any sense at all."

"It doesn't have to make sense." John shrugged, his hands still firm on her stomach. "It just is."

* * *

"Oh, Migs!" Edith exclaimed as she burst into the drawing room, still clad in her coat and hat. "How wonderful you look!"

Margaret had been sitting reading a book, too engrossed to hear the bell. She smiled broadly at her cousin, easing herself out of the chair and embracing her fondly.

"I am sure that isn't true." Margaret laughed. "It is good to see you, cousin. Where are the boys?"

"Gone to the nursery to rest. It has been a very long journey and Ranulph fussed the entire way." Edith sighed, rubbing at her temples. "I have such a headache!"

"I would love to meet him." Margaret smiled. "When he has rested, of course. And Sholto must have grown so much!"

"Yes, he is a real little boy now. Oh Margaret, I cannot believe you will have a child of your own!"

Edith, never one for restraint, flung her hands to her cousin's midsection. Margaret almost recoiled at the unexpected physical contact, but she allowed her cousin this. Nobody had touched her stomach save for John and Doctor Donaldson. Edith was like a sister to her, and she could not refuse her the chance to feel the baby. Even if it did make Margaret even more aware of just how large she looked.

"It is very exciting." Margaret smiled.

"Are you terribly exhausted?" Edith asked, straightening herself and smoothing out her skirts. "I remember being most dreadfully tired all of the time when I was seven months into my time. And my moods! Poor Maxwell did not know if he was coming or going, I changed my opinion of him so often. One moment he was the most wonderful man in the world, the next I could not stand to have him near me."

"I have experienced a little of that." Margaret admitted. "I quite bit John's head off the other evening for no reason at all."

"It will only get worse." Edith said happily, taking her cousin's arm in hers and walking to the drawing room. "Oh I have so much to tell you! Corfu was wonderful but I should be happy to be home."

"Mama, Mama!"

In through the door burst Sholto. He was far bigger than Margaret remembered him, of course. A real little boy! Margaret felt her heart leap at the sight of him - she really was most fond of the child, and had missed him terribly.

"Sholto! What are you doing here, where is Nanny?" Edith asked.

Edith tried to look cross, but was rather ineffective at it. She was more useless still when Sholto began to climb her leg begging to be lifted onto her hip. Eventually, she relented, taking the boy into her arms and pressing a kiss to his ruddy cheek. Though he was still as fair as ever, he had obviously caught the Medeteranian sun - unlike his mother. He looked healthy, Margaret thought. He reminded her of the children she had seen Cadiz, though none of them had had hair so strikingly blonde.

Sholto's nanny, a woman of about thirty who looked thoroughly exhausted, trailed after the boy, taking him from Edith's arms at Edith's request and setting him down on the floor. Sholto pouted, crossing his arms and stamping his foot.

"Sorry, Mistress. He wished to say hello to his aunt."

"Oh, Sholto! How you have grown!" Margaret knelt down, with some difficulty, and held her arms open.

Sholto was almost four now, with a mop of blonde hair and a mischievous smile. He ran to Margaret, knocking into her with such force she nearly flew backwards. She was winded, but still held her arms out to hold the child close.

"Hello!" He exclaimed, kissing her on the cheek. "I missed you."

"You remember me?" Margaret asked. "It has been a long time since I have seen you. Surely you must have forgotten me, my darling."

"I told him stories of his Aunt Margaret. He has been so excited to see you!" Edith explained. "I read him the well wishes you sent to him in your letters, and told him of his uncle's factory. He was fascinated."

Margaret smiled at the thought of Edith talking about Marlborough Mills far away beneath Mediterranean skies - so very different to Milton that Sholto probably couldn't even create an image in his mind. Margaret appreciated Edith's loyalty to her - she had always been a great support and Margaret suspected she was rather proud of her for marrying a man such as John. It might not have been what she wanted at first, but Edith had been quite swept up in the romance of it all.

"I have missed you too, little one."

"Baby?" He asked, pointing at Margaret's stomach. "Like Mama?"

Margaret looked up at her cousin. Edith was grinning, trying not to laugh. Margaret raised an eyebrow and looked at her cousin's midsection.

"I was going to tell you later." Edith smiled. "I suppose his way is as good as any. I hope it will be a girl this time."

"Are you excited to be a big brother again, Sholto?"

Sholto shook his head, his blonde hair bouncing.

"'Nulph cries all the time." He told her, looking weary. "Make my head hurt. Silly baby."

"Sholto!" Edith exclaimed, exasperated. "Nanny, please take him to the nursery. Sholto, it will simply not do to talk about your brother like that. I shall see you in the morning, goodnight darling."

Though the child pouted, he pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek as instructed.

"Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight Aunt Margaret."

"Goodnight, Sholto." Margaret smiled, pressing a kiss to the blonde crown of hair. "Sweet dreams."

"Oh, that boy is so cheeky!" Edith smiled fondly as the blonde head disappeared around the corner. "I do not know where he gets it from. Maxwell and I are both too besotted by him to discipline him properly."

"He's a sweet thing. His manners are there, he just has spirit. I like that."

"You would." Edith laughed. "Oh, Migs you really do look wonderful! Where is that dashing husband of yours?"

"I believe he will be home from a meeting soon. He arranged several while we were here, to make best use of the time. We need to get back to Milton tomorrow, unfortunately."

"I am so sorry we were delayed. There was the most terrible storm in France and we simply could not sail out. I was terribly sea sick even when it was calm enough to cross. Still, we are here now. I wish to know everything."

"Everything about what?" Margaret laughed. It had been a year since they had last seen one another, so 'everything' could take quite some time.

"About the baby! How you are feeling, what you are craving, how you are sleeping! Is John excited? I wager he is worshipping you like a goddess."

Margaret blushed from her cheeks to the tips of her toes.

"Do not be ridiculous!" Margaret spluttered. "He is being very kind to me. Though he is treating me more like a china doll than a goddess. The moment I try and do anything more strenuous than, say, lifting a teaspoon he jumps up to stop me."

"He is nervous, probably. He is excited to be a father?"

"Yes. Yes, he is excited." Margaret smiled softly. "I am lucky. I am very lucky to have him, to have a husband that is so sympathetic to what it is like to carry a child. I have never felt so loved in all my life."

Edith reached out and rubbed Margaret's arm, smiling broadly. The warm climate had not changed her cousin; Edith's skin was somehow as clear and pale as it had ever been. Margaret wondered if she'd been outside at all in the entire time the Lennoxes had lived in Corfu.

"I am so glad for you! Every month I was waiting for a letter and every month nothing arrived. I was starting to worry!" Edith laughed.

"It did not happen so quickly for me." Margaret said, remembering the bitter disappointment that grew with every month that passed. She cleared her throat. "But here we are now, that is the main thing."

"And are you well?"

"Yes. Save for back ache." Margaret rubbed at her spine. "Constant back ache."

"Oh, poor thing! I do hope you are not working in that school room!"

"I do as much as I can, but I am struggling to stand for too long. And I am sure I am so round that I block the blackboard!" She laughed. "Did you hear that Henry's wife is expecting also?"

"Anne? No! I had not! Oh, how lovely. How funny that I used to have you and Henry in mind. Now, I cannot imagine you being happy with anyone besides Mr Thornton. Everyone is settled, it is lovely!"

From the hallway, the doorbell rang. Margaret sat a little straighter in her chair, hoping that it was John returned home. She was right; she heard his familiar footsteps. It was funny that she could identify him merely from the way he walked, but she could. He walked through the doorway, his eyes immediately sweeping over Margaret.

"Oh, hello John!" Edith trilled, standing up and shaking his hand most enthusiastically indeed. "How nice to see you again."

"Edith." He nodded his head. "How was the journey?"

"Oh, dreadful, dreadful! Still, it has all been worth it to come home at last. Corfu was wonderful but I was most ready indeed to come home. And it is so wonderful of course to see Margaret looking so well! Isn't she just blooming?!"

"Aye." John said with a soft smile. "She is. Is your husband joining us?"

"No, unfortunately he has had to go straight to the barracks to discuss arrangements of his leave." Edith sighed. "Still, I shall be glad to have time to find somewhere to live. We cannot live here forever, not with three children."

"Edith is expecting again, John." Margaret explained.

"Congratulations." John nodded. "The family grows ever larger."

"Doesn't it just! I have heard that Henry and Anne are expecting too! Is she nice, Migs? I do not know her at all, and we missed the wedding!"

"I do not know her well, but her father is John's banker." Margaret supplied. "I have spoken with her a little. She was here at your mother's dinner party, we spoke for a while."

"Do you know her, John?"

Margaret thought he looked a little sheepish then; of course he knew Anne Latimer. He had kissed her all those years ago. Though looking back, Margaret could perhaps admit to jealousy, it was so long ago that it did not bother her in the slightest. Anne was happily married now, seemingly besotted with the rather severe Henry Lennox.

"A little, yes." John said. "She is great friends with my sister."

"Oh, how is Fanny?!" Edith asked. "We got on so well at the wedding."

"She is well." John said. "Her daughter is keeping her busy."

"Oh to have a daughter!" Edith exclaimed, rubbing at her stomach. "I suppose you want a boy first?"

John looked a little surprised to be asked such a thing. It was always assumed men would want boys. Margaret knew that he would be just as thrilled with a firstborn daughter.

"I don't mind." John shrugged. "Most men'll say they only want boys, but the women in my life have more sense than any man I've ever met."

Margaret found herself grinning widely. She half wondered if Fanny was included in that group of sensible women.

"Oh, what sense this man speaks!" Edith tittered. A yawn overtook her, and she covered her mouth. "If you'll excuse me, I will rest before dinner."

Edith wished them both goodbye. Margaret shifted uncomfortably in the chair, her back throbbing. John did not miss this movement, and he was by her side in a moment.

"Maggie, are you alright?" He asked, kneeling beside her. "You should rest too."

"I am alright it is just-"

"Your back." John finished the sentence for her. "Come, I'm taking you to bed."

"There was a time when those words excited me." Margaret said, groaning as he helped lift her from the chair. "Now I know they mean boredom and idleness."

"When you have had our child, I will make those words exciting again." John murmured in her ear, allowing his tongue to trace the very tip of her ear. "I am desperate for you, wife."

Margaret shuddered, his unexpected words thrilling her for a brief moment. It was not fair that he should taunt her in such a way. She knew he did not want to lie together until she had safely delivered, and while she understood his concerns it did not do anything to lessen the feeling that she was no longer attractive to him in her current state.

"Don't." Margaret muttered, crossing her arms. "That is not fair and you know it."

"I'm sorry."

"You do not need to come with me." Margaret said. "I'm sure you have things to be getting on with."

"Are you leaving me alone with your aunt?" John asked in a jovial tone, his fingertips dancing over her knuckles as he tried to pull her hand free from its crossed position. She shrugged away from him, and he sighed deeply. "Margaret, don't be like this. Not again."

"Like what?" Margaret asked, her hands moving to her hips.

John closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing at his forehead. Margaret narrowed her eyes; had he always been so irritating?

"I do not know what I am doing but I constantly seem to upset you! I don't want to but how am I to know what I am doing wrong if you are not telling me?!"

"You are not doing anything wrong!" Margaret protested. "I am just tired!".

John threw a hand up hopelessly, before rubbing at his forehead.

"That is a lie and you damn well know it. I feel like I am walking a very rickety rope bridge above a ravine when I speak to you - never knowing when I will misstep and fall!"

Margaret could not help it - laughter burst from her chest. She clapped a hand over her mouth as she dissolved into helpless giggles. John smiled, cupping her chin and kissing the very tip of her nose.

"I'm sorry John. I cannot help my moods, I really am the most terrible beast."

"My beast." He said fondly, guiding her up the staircase. "Come, let's get you to bed before you decide what I have done wrong next."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two more chapters and an epilogue to go! Thanks for sticking with me, and all your comments. You have no idea how much they help me.


	41. Chapter Forty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual content.

Seven months.

Two hundred and fifteen days actually, if Margaret was being precise. And twelve hours.

That was how long it had been since John had last taken her to bed.

It had not been so terrible at first; at first she thought he was just tired after his journey and many months away. Then, she had started to think her changing body was unattractive. That was when the jealousy had set in. If he looked at any woman who was not related to him for longer than a few moments, Margaret was convinced he would be stolen away from her.

It was only on their visit to London, Margaret had realised why he would not lie with her. Not because, as he had reassured her over and over, he did not want her. He was worried about hurting her, about being too rough.

“Edith.” Margaret asked her cousin the next day. “I have a rather personal question to ask you.”

“Ooh, you have me intrigued!” Edith squealed, leaning forward and almost knocking the tea off the table. “I am so glad Mr Thornton had that last meeting to attend before you return to Milton, I thought I would not get any scandalous conversation from you at all!”

Margaret laughed, straightening Edith’s teacup on the saucer. Her cousin had changed little from their childhood; she had always been far too easily excited.

“Please, I think I am the least scandalous person who has ever lived! No, I need your advice about something. It is delicate.”

Edith’s eyes flashed.

“Go on.”

“When you - when you are expecting, do you and Maxwell -” Margaret felt her cheeks flame red. “Oh, forget it.”

“Migs!”

“I am sorry, it was inappropriate of me to even try to discuss this. It is a private matter, between husband and wife.”

Edith smiled knowingly, reaching across the small table and patting Margaret’s hand.

“Army wives are rather less - secretive about these matters. Some of the things I heard in Corfu would make even the hardiest dock worker blush! Are you alright, darling girl?”

“He will not touch me.” Margaret bit out, her eyes filling with humiliated tears. “He hasn’t touched me since he returned from Spain. Not like that, anyway. He sleeps in another room, he avoids me like I am diseased!”

Margaret hated the fact that John slept apart from her. He blamed his coughing or not wishing to disturb her, but the empty space in their bed that had taunted her the entire time he was in Spain continued to do so. Here in London, they shared a bed - yet this morning she had woken to find him curled up in a chair!

“Have you spoken to him about it? Perhaps he is trying to be helpful in that utterly infuriating way only a man can manage.”

“He does not want to hurt me, or the baby. I do understand but surely it is not so dangerous? If one were gentle, it would be safe, yes?”

Edith took a sip of tea, looked around the room and leaned forward. Margaret did the same, hoping she would get an honest answer to her question.

“I must confess that I cannot keep my hands to myself when it comes to Maxwell. I quite lose all decorum when I am expecting a baby. Why, when I was expecting Sholto I made him take me while we were at the theat-”

“Edith!” Margaret was sure the heated blush she felt burn her cheeks extended to the very tips of her toes. “That is certainly not what I have in mind!”

“You asked!” Edith batted back. “I would go mad without it, I am just being truthful!”

“I am going mad!” Margaret hissed, eyes darting to make sure this most inappropriate conversation was not overheard. “I am certain I cannot stand it a moment more.”

“Talk to him. He does seem a little - I cannot quite put my finger on it. A little tightly wound, perhaps? He is probably nervous. Men hide their emotions so deeply, it is rather tiresome trying to understand what they are thinking.”

“John does not hide his feelings.” Margaret said. “In fact, he is often so blunt if I did not love him so much I might be offended.”

“Then talk to him!”

“He will think me immoral.”

Edith smiled wickedly, lifting her cup to her lips and pausing dramatically.

“I think he will feel like the luckiest man on Earth.”

* * *

A week later, Margaret had still not summoned enough courage to ask John for what she needed. He steadfastly avoided her at night, sleeping in either Fanny’s old room or - as Margaret had discovered the previous night when she had gone looking for him - face down on his desk.

As a result of his poor sleeping habits, he was almost unbearable to be around. He snapped at everyone, save Margaret and his mother, barely ate meals and prowled around the mill like an angry cat. The workers scattered when they saw him coming - Margaret had overheard mutterings that the Master was just like he used to be.

It had gone on long enough. It was most ridiculous indeed, and more than that she missed him. She missed him so much she ached with it.

“Thank you Dixon.” Margaret yawned as Dixon finished helping her get ready for bed. “You are dismissed. Actually - if you see Mr Thornton and he is still working, might you ask him to come and see me?”

Dixon shook her head, gathering Margaret’s discarded clothes as she huffed and puffed. Margaret frowned; was she really refusing to do as asked?! Surely it was not such an enormous task.

“He said not to be disturbed, Mistress. I’ll not risk upsetting the beast.”

“Dixon!” Margaret gasped. “I’ll thank you to remember your manners.”

“Just a joke, Mistress. He doesn’t like to be disturbed when he has given orders, is all. Goodnight. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

Margaret picked up the book - one Edith had leant her about childbirth, as though she could think of anything else - she kept beside her bed. Flipping through the pages, she threw it down beside her in frustration. She did not want to read! She certainly did not wish to read of the horrors of birth and all the things that could go wrong.

Climbing out of bed, she took a deep breath. She was not afraid of her husband. She would not sleep alone for another night. Wrapping John’s dressing gown around her (her own was rather strained against the swell of her stomach), she opened the door. The floor of the hallway was cold under her bare feet as she crept downstairs. She felt like an intruder in her own home!

The rest of the house had retired for the night, and Magraret heard the sitting room clock strike eleven. Hannah Thornton retired for the night at nine o’clock every evening, Margaret a little later. John would work until his eyelids drooped.

She could see the light seeping underneath his study door. She did not knock, instead pushing the door open.

“Leave!”

“Excuse me!” Margaret said, her hands going to her hips. “Do not speak to me like that!”

John’s head snapped up. He grimaced.

“Margaret, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was you. The damned servants won’t give me any peace, clattering around like clumsy oafs.”

“Dixon told me you had told them all to leave you alone. I did not think such a rule applied to your wife.”

John shook his head. His hair had grown too long, falling over his eyes as he leaned down. It curled around the nape of his neck, disappearing into the back of his shirt. He was too thin, also, his jaw sharp beneath the stubble he had not shaved away that morning. He wore his shirt and waistcoat, the white sleeves splattered with ink stains. He looked utterly dishevelled.

He looked utterly delicious.

Margaret swallowed.

“It doesn’t, I’m just busy. I have three meetings next week, six new orders and Senor Barbor has just written-”

“John.”

“-to say that one of his business partners-”

“John.”

“-fears there will be a delay in supply-”

“John!”

Margaret stood behind him now, her hands at his neck. He groaned as she slipped them beneath the fabric of his shirt, skimming down his chest. She kept her hands there, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. He kissed her exposed wrist, even the slightest brush of his lips sending sparks through her.

“What?” His voice was hoarse.

“Come to bed.”

“I can’t.” He gestured to the vast stack of papers in front of him.

“You look awful. Have you slept at all these past weeks? I know your neck must be hurting, for I found you twisted up like a discarded ragdoll at your desk in the middle of the night.”

“I’m fine. Why were you up in the middle of the night? You need to rest.”

“I am finding it hard to rest. There is something wrong.”

He looked up again, his pen falling from his hand as he flicked his eyes up and down her. His brow furrowed as he stood, crossing the small room in an instant to examine her.

“You’re ill?”

“Not ill.” Margaret took a shaking breath. “Wanton.”

He closed his eyes as he exhaled shakily.

“You had me worried.”

“Darling, please - please just - can we just try?”

“Try what?” He grunted the words as he sat back down in his chair and picked up his pen.

Margaret would not lose this battle to paperwork.

“Lying together. As man and wife. Like we used to.”

His hand faltered, the pen pausing over a line. Margaret held her breath, only to exhale in defeat as he resumed his writing a moment later.

“I’m busy.”

“You’re exhausted!” Margaret countered. “I can see the shadows beneath your eyes. Come to bed, my love. Even just to sleep. Lie beside me, let me hold you. Do not make me beg.”

Closing the door behind her, Margaret walked over to his desk. The table was strewn with papers, more stacks of them littering the floor. John rubbed at his forehead, his shoulders tense. She stood beside him, her hand reaching out to stroke the hard line of his jaw. He groaned, capturing her hand and holding it there. He looked up at her with tired eyes. He looked at her carefully, then his mouth turned upwards in a broad smile.

“You’re wearing my dressing gown.”

Margaret watched him for a moment. In the quiet of the house, away from the mill and the pressures of life, he somehow looked delicate. Strange, she thought, that a man so tall and powerful could be called delicate. Yet, that was the word that came to mind - the crinkle of the skin by his eyes, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the soft dark hair visible through the open collar of his shirt. She was struck by just how much she loved this man. Loved, desired - craved.

“Mine will not fasten.” Margaret said, feeling a blush creep to her cheeks. “I am too big.”

“You look lovely. It is strange, but when you wear my clothes - it reminds me that you are mine.”

Margaret laughed, looking down at the plain red dressing gown she wore.

“When do I ever wear your clothes?! I think I would look quite ridiculous in a cravat.”

“You know what I mean. The odd time you have thrown my shirt over your head just so you are covered and warm. Now. You are mine.”

“I am yours. The proof is rather hard to ignore.” Margaret said, her hands resting on her rounded stomach, big with the evidence of their love. “Come to bed, darling. Let me show you I am yours.”

“Oh God.” John groaned, his eyes closing. “Say it again.”

“I am yours.” She held a hand out to him. He stood as though entranced by her, and took her hand. “I love you, John. You are mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

He tugged her close to him, his arms circling her until she was so tight against him she had no choice but to rest her face against his chest. She inhaled deeply, his scent filling her nose and calming the rapid beating of her heart. He was hers. Hers.

“I know.”

“You’re sure it’s safe?”

“I asked Edith and-“

John choked, sputtering as he looked at her with wide eyes. Margaret could not help but laugh at his shock, though she reached up and ran a thumb along his jaw to drag him from his stupor.

“You asked Edith?! Is that why she could barely look me in the eyes when I said goodbye?”

“Possibly.” Margaret said, her voice wavering as she struggled not to laugh. “I’m sorry darling, I didn’t know who else to ask. I could hardly ask Aunt Shaw - or your mother. Maybe I should have asked Fanny..”

She was only teasing, but John made a funny sort of choking noise and buried his face in his hands. When she tried to lower them from his face, she realised he was shaking with laughter. He raised his face to her and reached out, pressing his hand to the rounded bump. John’s eyebrows near enough shot into his hair as he was rewarded with a firm kick to the palm of his hand.

Margaret laughed, placing her hands over his.

“He’s always more active at night when everything is quiet. Which you would know if you would just return to our bed.”

John turned from her to extinguish the lamp at his table. The room was dark, and Margaret fumbled for the door. Before she could open it, she felt his body pressed against her back. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sense of having him close. She could smell him in the darkness, his usual scent of smoke and soap. It filled her, and she revelled in the intimacy of that moment.

“Are you certain?” His voice was hesitant, and she wondered if she should open the door to see his face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve never hurt me, darling. You are the most gentle, considerate lover.”

“I don’t feel it. I feel rough, pent up. There are many reasons I’ve left you alone these past months, Maggie.”

Margaret braced herself for more excuses.

“I know, you do not wish to disturb me-”

“Yes, but there is another. You will think less of me for it.”

“Never.”

“You are too beautiful. I cannot - keeping my hands off you has been near impossible.”

“Then why have you avoided me? I - I would have no complaints. I fear this baby has made my blood rather hot, John.” She said, feeling embarrassment creep up her spine. “I’ve thought of little else, especially this past week.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to tell you in London. In truth I have barely seen you to try and discuss it. That is why I am here now.” Margaret said, trying to make her voice sound firm. “I am here for a reason.”

“To seduce me?”

“Is it working?”

He tugged her further back so her back rested flush against his hips.

Oh.

“You tell me.”

“John.”

“I sleep apart from you because I don’t wish to make demands of you, Maggie. I want to make sure you are rested, not bothered by your husband’s selfishness when you should be sleeping.”

“So you do want me?” Margaret asked.

“The reason I slept in the chair-” He hesitated, though his hand stroked up and rested on her breast. She sighed, and wiggled against him in appreciation. “Christ, Margaret. Don’t do that. The reason I slept in the chair was because my cock was so fucking hard I thought it would fall off. I had to distract myself, so I read the dullest book I could find until I fell asleep.”

She gasped. Oh, she had missed that. She had missed the coarseness of his words, the lust laced expletives that she pretended to hate. She needed him.

* * *

What a fool he had been.

Firstly, he had been a fool to think staying away from his wife for seven months was anything other than idiocy. Secondly, he had been a fool to neglect his wife’s needs for so long. There was something in her eyes that he had ignored.

“Take me to bed.” Margaret whispered. “Take me to bed and make love to me.”

“Promise me you will stop me if I am too rough.”

“I am not made of glass, my love. But yes, I promise I will stop you. I have thought of nothing else but you these past few days. Weeks. Months.”

“Tell me what you have thought of.” John asked - no, not asked. It was not a request, but a demand.

He could not see her, but he could hear the hitch of her breath. Perhaps he had asked too much of her; she was a lady, a well brought up parson’s daughter. Rough words came easily to him but even after almost two years of marriage, Margaret only voiced her desires when she was truly lost in passion.

He needed her words. Needed her - what, permission?

“Spain.” She whispered, still wriggling against him. “I think about Spain. That last night..”

“I think of that night so often.”

In truth, thoughts of that night had consumed him during his time in Europe. That evening had been the most perfect night of his whole life - pleasure so sharp, so all consuming that surely a person could only experience it once. But oh - he had missed her so badly these past months.

“You do?”

“Oh hell, you don’t know how often I’ve thought of that night. Your lips around my cock, the feel of your perfect pussy, so sweet and hot as you came against my mouth..”

“John!” Margaret could not contain her shock at the coarseness of his words. John reckoned his wife had not heard that particular word before, but it did not take much guessing as to what it meant. “You have never - used such language.”

He stepped back, breaking the delicious closeness that had settled between them. Margaret turned to look at him. He felt mortified, utterly debauched.

“You do not like it. I’m sorry, I-“

“No, no apologies. I like it. I am just - out of practice I suppose. I am not used to it, perhaps I have lost my nerve.”

“I can stay silent if you would prefer.”

“No.” Margaret returned to her place in her arms, forcefully grabbing his wrists and making him hold her tightly. “No, I love it. I just - I just don’t know what to say in return. I must sound a fool when I try and - and say words like that. When you speak to me, your words dark and your voice dripping with lust - it makes my knees weak.”

Her approval meant everything to him, and he leant to kiss her. He could not see her in the dark, but his hands found the nape of the neck. Brushing away her hair, he pressed a soft kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She shuddered against him, and John was sure the hardness of his manhood against her was obscene.

“We should go to bed. Much longer and I’ll have you against the desk, and that is no place for someone in your condition.”

“Perhaps not.” Margaret whispered huskily. “But I shall remember that for when I am no longer in this condition.”

John groaned.

“Bed, Maggie. Now.”

She took his hand and stepped away from him, opening the door and taking his hand. She almost ran up the stairs in her haste to get to their bedroom. John opened his mouth to tell her to take care, to slow down - but stopped. He had to trust her.

She dragged him by the hand to their bedroom, walking (or perhaps waddling, for the child growing inside her stopped her walking as gracefully as she usually did) so fast that he struggled to keep up. He felt laughter bubble in his throat, feeling lighter than he had done since he had returned to England. Though everything was changing - this stayed the same. He was still John, and she was still Margaret. His Margaret.

As soon as the door to their bedroom was closed, Margaret was on him. Her hands frantically unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling with the fastening of his trousers. He helped her, hands covering hers as their mouths crashed together. He was bent almost double to reach her. The protesting burn of his muscles at being forced into such a hunched position did not bother him. He shrugged off his shirt.

“Let me see you.” He murmured as he kicked free of his trousers and underwear, pulling off his socks.

Margaret hesitated.

“Might we distinguish the candles?” Margaret worried her lip.

“If you want to.” John said. “But - I should like to see you. All of you. You don’t need to hide yourself.”

She glanced down at her body, her lower lip between her teeth as she considered what he had just said.

“I have changed.” Margaret said finally, her voice so quiet he could scarcely hear her.

“I can see that.”

“More than here.” Her hands cradled the bump of her stomach. “Everywhere. Even my ankles are swollen.”

“Do you need to see the doctor?”

“No! No, he says it is quite normal. I just need to stay off my feet.”

“I’ve told you to rest.” He winced; that sounded hard even to his own ears.

“And I do! Please John, not another argument. We were so close.”

Her hands ran up his chest, and he shut his eyes. He had forgotten the feel of her hands on him, the gentle tracing of her fingertips feeling like fire trailing his skin. He groaned, the sound too loud and too rough.

“Go to the bed.” He bit out as her hands wandered lower. “Please.”

“In a moment. I wish to admire my husband. It has been so very long since I have seen you like this, my love. Let me look.”

“There is not much to see.” He shifted from one foot to the other, her gaze feeling rather hungry. Though it excited him, he worried - as he always did, deep down - that he was not enough for her.

“I find you most pleasing to look at, my love. Your strong arms, broad shoulders. I am particularly fond, you know, of this part just here.”

With one fingertip, Margaret traced the defined ridge just above his hip bone, following it down until he sucked in a harsh breath. She stroked him softly, and he thought he might embarrass himself right then. He groaned gutterly as she tightened her hand, his fingers grasping at her shoulder to steady himself before he fell.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from his manhood. She pouted in faux disappointment, but allowed herself to be taken to the bed. She undid the dressing gown on her way, throwing it somewhere behind them. She lay on the bed in her white nightgown, hair loose and fanning across the bed as she settled on the pillows.

“God.” He could barely catch his breath. “You are an angel.”

“Don’t mock me, darling. I don’t think angels would find themselves in this condition.”

“You are so beautiful. How could I stay away for so long?” He almost whispered the words. “I’m sorry.”

“I can think of a way you can apologise.”

“Oh?”

“Hold me. Like you used to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“We don’t have to - perhaps we could - just..” Her voice stammered helplessly, and she covered her face with her hands. “I feel like this is our first time again!”

“Stand.”

She blinked, but did as he asked. She held out a hand to him and he helped her to her feet. He leaned down, kissing the soft skin of her neck. God, she smelled good. Soap and the delicate rose water she wore as perfume. It was heaven.

“Take off my gown.” Margaret whispered.

He gathered the long skirt up in his hands, his face still buried in the crook of his neck. He pulled back as she lifted up her arms, the garment slipping easily over her head and off her body as he dropped it carelessly.

God, she was more beautiful than ever. Her breasts had grown larger, lush and full. Her hips were rounder too. She was so extraordinary - he could not find the words to express his desire for her.

“Fuck.”

That particular word slipped out unbidden. Margaret raised an eyebrow, her grin wide as she struggled not to laugh.

“That is what I am trying to achieve, yes darling. Come, you have teased me long enough. I want you inside me, now.”

“But I haven’t touched you.”

“I have been waiting for seven months, believe me - I am quite ready.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Margaret made a most peculiar noise - almost like a squeak.

“John, all I have thought of for weeks is your cock inside me. I need you to fuck me. Please.”

He groaned - though she had said all those things to him before (though rarely), she had never begged him in such a way. He was so hard and so very aroused that he feared he would only last for a moment. He breathed deeply, willing all the self control he had ever displayed to come to him now.

“Christ. How do you want me? Tell me what you need, what is comfortable for you.”

“I think perhaps I am a little too, uh, round to lie on my back. If you were to lie down and I..”

“Yes.” John answered immediately. “Ride me. Please.”

Margaret gave a breathy nod of excitement, her cheeks flushing with heat and anticipation. She was exquisite. For possibly the one thousandth time since they had married, John wondered what marvellous thing he had ever done to be rewarded with such a wonderful creature as a wife.

She gave him a little tap on the shoulder, knocking him out of his dazed stupor. He took her hand and pulled her to the bed. He lay down, the sheets cool against his burning skin, and held his breath as she moved over him.

“You’re sure this is safe?” He asked for the final time.

Margaret took him in her hand, settled over him and sank down. She hissed in pleasure, her hands gripping his forearms as she allowed herself a moment to adjust. He could not breathe. He could not move. He was blinded by the pure pleasure of it all.

“Oh, oh yes.” She whispered. “I have missed this desperately.”

“I’m sorry.” He bit out. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, darling. It is alright. Just be here, now. Make love to me.”

So he did, his hands twisted in the sheets to try and keep his self control as his wife moved up and down. She was slow at first - hesitant almost. As she became more confident, she moved faster and with more abandon. John could not take his eyes away from her - her face contorted with pleasure, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth moving in silent curses.

“Maggie, I’m going to come.” He cried, his voice broken as the pleasure raced through him. “I’m sorry, I’m going to come.”

“Wait, please!” She straightened herself so she was almost sitting upright, and he hissed as she brought her fingers to her sex.

He screwed his eyes shut, unable to last watching such a thing. He would not come first. He would not take this release from her. She cried out above him, his eyes flying open just in time to see her arch in climax. It was the most glorious sight he had ever seen.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming.” He hissed, his hands moving to the small of her back as he pressed her down onto him. His toes curled, his legs clenched - every muscle felt tight. He was clinging to her, only one thought in his mind.

_Don’t hurt her._

  
Margaret collapsed down onto him, her chest heaving. Her skin was damp with exertion. He held her tightly for several minutes, allowing the silence to wash over them. He had missed her so much; she was his again.

“Oh.” She whispered, her voice shaking. “Oh, that was precisely what I needed.”

“And me.”

She raised herself on her forearms, studying his face carefully.

“Maybe now,” she said with a teasing smile “you’ll be a bit nicer to everyone.”

John chuckled.

“Perhaps. I’m tired.” He yawned. “Are you alright?”

She moved to lie beside him, curling against him as her hands drew lazy circles on his chest. He pulled her closer so her cheek rested just above his heart. Her warm breath tickled. Every sensation was perfect.

“Quite well. Sleep, my love.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “This is where you belong. With me.”

“I know.”

And then, with a smile on his face and peace in his heart, he fell into the most contented sleep he had known for the past seven months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw this was our last smut chapter! There are still two chapters and an epilogue but a few people asked for a little bit more smut.


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